•MMBMMHMIpttHKMKBKii'1          :'•.•%•  v 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S 
WORKSHOP 


BY 

MARGUERITE  AUDOUX 


TRANSLATED  BY 

F.   S.  FLINT 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  SELTZER 

1920 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
THOMAS  SELTZER,  INC. 


All  rights  reserved 


PRINTED   IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OT    AMERICA 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 


2134151 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 


ON  that  day,  as  on  every  other  morning  when  the 
time  to  start,  work  was  near,  the  Avenue  du  Maine  was 
crowded  with  people  walking  hurriedly  and  with  over- 
loaded trams  rolling  swiftly  towards  the  center  of  Paris. 

In  spite  of  the  crowd,  I  saw  Sandrine  immediately. 
She,  too,  was  stepping  out  and  I  had  to  run  to  catch 
her  up. 

It  was  Monday.  Our  summer  slackness  was  com- 
ing to  an  end,  and  we  were  returning  to  the  workshop 
to  begin  the  winter  season. 

Bouledogue  and  little  Duretour  were  waiting  for  us 
on  the  pavement,  and  big  Bergeounette,  whom  we  could 
see  coming  along  on  the  opposite  side,  crossed  the  avenue, 
without  heeding  the  traffic,  in  order  to  be  with  us  sooner. 

For  several  minutes  there  was  gay  gossip  in  our  group. 
Then  the  four  stories  were  climbed  quickly.  And, 
while  the  others  took  their  old  places  round  the  table, 
I  went  and  sat  in  front  of  the  sewing-machine,  near 
the  window.  Bouledogue  was  the  last  to  be  seated. 
She  blew  through  her  nose  as  her  habit  was,  and  imme- 
diately her  work  was  handed  to  her  she  said :  "  Now 
we  must  work  hard  to  please  everybody." 

5 


6  MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

The  patronne's  1  husband  looked  at  her  very  nar- 
rowly, and  replied,  "  Eh  be.  ...  You  don't  say  you're 
going  to  start  grousing  already !  " 

He  it  was  who  always  distributed  praise  or  blame. 
For  that  reason,  the  girls  called  him  the  patron,  while 
they  called  their  mistress  Mme.  Dalignac  whenever  they 
spoke  of  her. 

Bouleclogue  grumbled  at  everything  and  nothing. 
When  she  was  displeased,  she  had  a  way  of  crinkling 
her  nose  which  raised  her  lip  and  disclosed  all  her  teeth, 
which  were  strong  and  white. 

It  often  happened  that  the  patron  came  to  words  with 
her;  but  Mme.  Dalignac  always  restored  peace  by  say- 
ing softly  to  them,  f'  Now  then  ...  do  be  quiet." 

The  patrons  angers  were  not  in  the  least  like  Boule- 
dogue's.  They  had  gone  as  soon  as  they  had  come. 
Without  hint  or  warning,  he  hurled  himself  at  the  girl 
who  was  to  be  taken  to  task,  and  for  a  whole  minute 
he  shouted  himself  to  the  choking  point,  swallowing 
half  the  words  he  had  to  say. 

This  habit  of  his  irritated  big  Bergeounette,  who 
took  no  notice  of  him  and  muttered  beneath  her  breath, 
"  What  gibberish !  " 

The  patron  was  the  first  to  laugh  at  his  own  outbursts, 
and  as  if  to  excuse  them,  he  used  to  say,  "  I  am  quick- 
tempered." And  he  added  sometimes  with  a  touch  of 
pride,  "  I  came  from  the  Pyrenees,  I  did." 

He  it  was  who  machine-embroidered  the  mantles  and 

i  Patron  and  patronne  mean  master  and  mistress;  there  are 
no  just  English  equivalents. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  Y 

gowns  of  our  customers.  He  was  skillful  and  extremely 
careful,  but  after  a  few  hours'  work  he  used  to  go  quite 
yellow  and  to  seem  broken  down  with  fatigue. 

His  wife  would  touch  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  say, 
"  Have  a  rest." 

He  would  then  stop  his  heavy  machine  and  push  back 
his  stool,  in  order  to  lean  against  the  wall,  and  he  would 
remain  a  long  while  without  stirring  or  speaking. 

Between  the  patrons  and  the  girls  there  was  a  sort  of 
friendly  understanding.  Mme.  Dalignac  was  not  afraid 
of  asking  advice  of  the  workshop,  and  the  girls  gave 
her  all  their  confidence. 

As  for  the  patron,  if  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
roice  to  give  us  the  slightest  explanation,  he  spoke  in 
quite  a  different  manner  to  his  wife.  He  asked  her  ad- 
vice on  the  most  trifling  things,  and  never  did  anything 
to  vex  her. 

Mme.  Dalignac  was' a  little  older  than  her  husband. 
This  could  be  seen  from  her  hair,  which  was  beginning 
to  go  gray  at  the  temples ;  but  her  face  remained  young, 
and  her  laugh  was  as  fresh  as  a  young  girl's. 

She  was  tall  and  also  well-made,  but  you  had  to  look 
at  her  closely  to  perceive  this,  so  unobtrusive  and  far- 
away she  always  seemed.  She  spoke  softly  and  delib- 
erately; and  if  she  happened  to  be  compelled  to  blame 
any  one,  she  blushed  and  stammered  as  if  she  were  her- 
self the  guilty  person. 

The  patron  cherished  his  wife  with  a  tenderness  full 
of  admiration,  and  he  often  used  to  say  to  us,  "  There's 
nobody  like  her." 


8 

Whenever  she  went  outdoors,  he  would  stand  at  the 
window  to  see  her  cross  from  one  pavement  to  the  other, 
and,  if  she  were  late  in  returning,  he  would  watch  for 
her  and  become  uneasy. 

At  these  times,  the  girls  knew  quite  well  that  he  must 
not  be  asked  for  anything. 

To-day  the  hope  of  work  brought  joy  into  the  work- 
shop. We  could  talk  of  nothing  else  but  of  a  new  cus- 
tomer whose  payments  would  be  certain,  because  she 
had  a  large  business,  and  who  would  give  us  a  lot  of 
work  because  she  had  five  daughters. 

The  patron  was  urging  his  wife  to  go  and  fetch  some 
materials  which  had  been  announced. 

"  Quick,  quick,"  he  said.  And  he  danced  about  so 
agitatedly  that  he  knocked  up  against  the  dummies  and 
the  stools.  Mine.  Dalignac  laughed  and  everybody  did 
the  same. 

The  sun,  too,  seemed  to  be  laughing  with  us.  It 
shone  through  the  window,  and  tried  to  rest  on  the 
cotton-basket  and  the  sewing-machine.  Its  heat  was 
still  very  mild,  and  Bergeounette  opened  the  window 
wide  to  let  it  enter  at  its  pleasure. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  avenue,  the  walls  of  a  house 
which  was  being  built  were  beginning  to  rise  from  the 
earth.  The  noises  of  stone  and  wood  mingled  together 
as  they  mounted  up  to  us,  and  the  red  and  blue  belts  of 
the  masons  could  be  seen  among  the  scaffoldings. 

Each  moment  a  tumbril  of  rubble  or  of  sand  would  be 
emptied.  The  rubble  rolled  over  with  a  thin  noise,  and 
the  slipping  of  the  sand  made  you  think  of  the  summer 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WOKKSHOP  9 

wind  in  the  foliage  of  the  chestnut  trees.  Then  trucks 
laden  with  hewn  stone  arrived.  You  could  hear  them 
coming  in  the  distance.  The  drivers  shouted,  whips 
cracked,  and  the  horses  drew  heavily  on  their  collars. 

Immediately  his  wife  had  set  out,  the  patron  made 
little  Duretour  help  him  to  clear  the  shelves  of  bits  of 
material,  and  to  put  things  in  some  sort  of  order. 

Little  Duretour  was  not  a  very  good  needle-woman, 
in  spite  of  her  eighteen  years ;  but  Mme.  Dalignac  kept 
her  because  of  her  great  gayety.  She  always  looked  at 
things  on  the  right  side,  and  her  high  spirits  often  pre- 
vented us  from  feeling  our  fatigue. 

It  was  she  who  ran  errands,  and  who  opened  the 
door  to  customers.  She  was  slightly  built,  and  her  hair 
was  so  carelessly  arranged  that  many  took  her  for  an 
apprentice.  This  annoyed  her  a  little,  and  made  her 
say,  "  When  I'm  married  they'll  still  take  me  for  a  little 
girl." 

Her  sweetheart  was  not  much  older  than  she  was. 
Each  evening  he  came  and  waited  for  her  at  the  door, 
and  the  two  of  them  took  up  no  more  room  on  the  pave- 
ment than  one  person. 

She  was  now  emptying  the  drawers  and  brushing  the 
shelves.  From  time  to  time  she  threw  a  parcel  into  the 
air  and  caught  it  like  a  ball,  or  else  she  amused  herself 
by  distorting  the  names  of  the  customers  and  making 
reverences  to  the  dummies.  Mmes.  Belauzaud  and 
Pellofy  especially  received  her  compliments. 

"  Good  morning,  Madame  Bel-Oiseau !     Good  morn- 


10          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

ing,  Madame  Pelle  a  feu !  "  she  said,  bowing  very  low 
and  putting  on  a  delighted  look. 

Our  mingled  laughter  flew  out  of  the  window,  and 
the  masons  opposite  raised  their  heads  to  see  whence 
it  came. 

I  was  the  last-comer  to  the  firm,  I  joined  it  shortly 
before  the  summer  dead-season,  and  although  they  had 
all  been  good  comrades  to  me,  shyness  prevented  me 
from  taking  part  in  their  gayety.  Yet,  since  I  had  been 
in  Paris,  it  was  the  first  workshop  in  which  I  had  felt 
at  home.  The  querulous  voice  of  the  patron  did  not 
frighten  me  in  the  least,  and  the  mildness  of  his  wife 
filled  me  with  tranquillity. 

On  my  arrival  the  patron  had  immediately  cut  my 
name  into  two. 

"  Marie  Claire,"  he  said,  swelling  out  his  cheeks  to 
accentuate  his  mockery,  "  two  names  at  once  ?  Eh  be 
.  .  .  you're  a  stunner,  you  are." 

And  puffing  out  his  breath  as  if  he  were  driving  some- 
thing too  complicated  away  from  him,  he  had  added  in 
a  serious  voice,  "  We  shall  call  you  Marie.  That  will 
be  quite  sufficient." 

But  it  was  not  sufficient.  I  answered  to  the  name 
so  badly  that  he  was  compelled  in  the  end  to  restore 
it  to  its  first  form. 

Mme.  Dalignac  came  back  sooner  than  she  was  ex- 
pected. She  brought  with  her  an  enormous  cardboard 
box,  the  lid  of  which  would  not  keep  down  in  spite  of 
the  strings  that  held  it. 


11 

The  patron  hastened  to  open  it.  He  touched  the 
tissues  with  a  little  grimace  of  pleasure. 

"  Silk,  nothing  but  silk,"  he  said.  His  wife  pushed 
him  away. 

"  Leave  it  alone.  .  .  .  You'll  mix  it  all  up."  Then, 
turning  to  us,  "  It  is  for  a  marriage,"  she  said. 

She  made  certain  that  the  box  rested  wholly  on  the 
table,  and  then  took  out  one  by  one  the  pieces  of  ma- 
terial, indicating  the  employment  of  each. 

"  A  black  gown  for  the  mother  of  the  bride.  Two 
blue  dresses  for  the  grown-up  sisters.  .  .  .  Pink  dresses 
for  the  little  sisters.  .  .  .  And  black  lace  and  white 
lace,  and  pieces  of  ribbon  and  taffeta  for  the  linings,  and 
satins  for  the  petticoats.  .  .  ." 

With  great  precaution  she  took  out  the  last  tissue 
carefully  folded  in  paper. 

"  And  here's  crepe  de  Chine  for  the  bride's  gown." 

And  without  stopping  to  take  off  her  cloak,  she  drew 
up  a  dummy,  and,  taking  up  the  materials,  she  began  to 
drape  them  round  the  bust.  She  unfolded  the  laces 
and  arranged  them.  She  made  loops  of  the  ribbons  on 
her  fingers,  and  pinned  them  on.  Then  she  flung  the  lot 
on  the  table,  which  was  soon  nothing  but  a  confusion 
of  every  color. 

My  four  companions  had  stopped  sewing,  and  were 
looking  on  with  interest.  Their  eyes  passed  from  one 
color  to  another,  and  they  stretched  out  their  hands  to 
touch  the  laces  and  the  silky  tissues. 

Suddenly  the  clock  began  to  chime.  Bouledogue  got 
up  and  said  sulkily,  "  It's  twelve  o'clock." 


12 

So  it  was,  but  the  morning  had  passed  so  quickly  that 
dinner-time  had  come  without  our  being  aware  of  it. 

The  others  laid  down  their  work,  and  got  up  slowly 
and  as  if  regretfully. 

The  afternoon  was  full  of  high  spirits.  Duretour, 
mounted  on  a  stool,  was  covering  the  shelves  with  a  gray 
paper  which  the  patron  passed  up  to  her  after  having 
cut  strips  of  the  proper  size. 

When  the  patron  did  not  hand  up  the  strips  quickly 
enough,  Duretour  took  advantage  of  the  moment's  in- 
terval to  turn  and  dance  on  her  stool ;  then  she  opened 
and  shut  her  arms,  shouting  like  a  market-woman, 
"  Robes  and  mantles,  robes  and  mantles." 

This  made  us  laugh,  and  the  patron  said  with  an  in- 
dulgent air,  "  If  there  were  only  you  to  make  them,  my 
poor  Duretour,  we  shouldn't  go  far." 

The  masons  opposite  whistled  like  free  birds.  They 
had  at  last  discovered  our  workshop,  and  they  were 
doing  everything  they  could  to  attract  our  attention. 
One  of  them  called  out  all  the  names  of  girls  he  could 
think  of,  while  another  struck  an  iron  frame  with  a 
heavy  hammer.  And  every  time  that  laughter  broke 
out  or  that  one  of  us  showed  herself  a  little  at  the  win- 
dow, the  calls  redoubled,  and  the  frame  sounded  like  a 
bell. 

Towards  the  evening  the  patron's  sister  entered  the 
workshop.  She  was  a  bold-looking  woman.  She,  too, 
was  a  dressmaker,  and  she  was  called  Mme.  Double. 

She  sat  down  on  the  patrons  stool. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  13 

"  You've  all  started  work  already,"  she  said  in  a  con- 
temptuous tone. 

"  I  am  certain  that  you  yourself  haven't  stopped  rest- 
ing," her  brother  replied,  annoyed. 

She  made  the  gesture  of  throwing  something  over 
her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  I  do  the  same  as  my  customers ;  I  go  to  the 
seaside,  and  I  only  came  back  this  morning." 

The  patron  showed  her  the  tissues. 

"  We  have  some  orders,"  he  said. 

Mme.  Double  became  attentive,  and  her  eyebrows 
came  together. 

She  had  black  eyes  like  her  brother's,  but  her  look 
was  full  of  boldness  and  firmness.  Her  mouth,  too, 
reminded  you  of  her  brother's,  but  her  lips  seemed  made 
of  some  hard  matter  which  prevented  them  from  stretch- 
ing into  a  smile. 

As  she  entered,  Mme.  Dalignac's  face  had  changed 
in  expression.  Still  cutting  her  taffeta,  she  bit  at  her 
lip  as  people  do  who  are  worried  by  something,  and 
you  heard  more  plainly  the  sharp,  grating  noise  of  her 
scissors. 

"  Anyhow,"  went  on  Mme.  Double,  "  you're  mad, 
Baptiste,  to  have  all  your  girls  at  the  beginning  of  the 
season." 

She  pointed  at  me  with  her  finger.  "  You  had  no 
need  to  take  on  that  one." 

The  patron  seemed  embarrassed. 

"  She  has  to  earn  her  living  like  the  rest  of  us,"  he 
replied,  without  looking  at  me. 


14  MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WOKKSHOP 

"  Eh,  yes,  poor  Baptiste,""'  she  said,  tapping  her 
brother  on  the  shoulder,  "  but  I  prefer  the  money  in 
my  pocket  rather  than  in  other  people's."  She  spoke 
the  words  in  a  kind  of  sing-song. 

Bouledogue  and  Sandrine  lowered  their  heads  and 
sewed  more  quickly.  Little  Duretour  had  become 
serious,  and  I  felt  uneasy  myself,  which  made  me 
strongly  desire  the  departure  of  Mme.  Double.  Big 
Bergeounette  alone  seemed  to  show  no  fear,  and  con- 
tinued her  interest  in  the  masons  opposite,  who  were 
making  a  great  noise  on  leaving  their  work. 

The  patron  tried  to  turn  the  conversation,  but  his 
sister  always  came  back  to  the  same  subject.  She 
thought  that  Mme.  Dalignac  lacked  firmness  with  her 
customers  and  severity  with  her  work-girls.  She  asked 
for  precise  details  about  the  work,  and  found  fault  with 
everything. 

The  patron  began  at  last  to  show  irritation. 

"  My  wife  is  not  a  policeman,  like  you,"  he  said. 

And  Mme.  Double,  who  had  the  same  accent  as  her 
brother,  replied,  "  Eh  be  ...  So  much  the  worse  for 
that  then." 

And  she  stood  upright,  looking  insolently  round  on 
everybody. 

"  It's  seven  o'clock,  Bouledogue,"  said  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac suddenly. 

It  was  probably  the  first  time  that  Bouledogue  had 
forgotten  the  clock.  She  got  up  quickly  and  undid  her 
apron,  before  she  put  away  her  work.  The  others  also 
got  up  hastily.  They  went  through  the  door  without 


MAEIE  CLAIKE'S  WOEKSHOP  15 

making  a  sound.  But  they  were  scarcely  outside  be- 
fore you  could  hear  them  tumbling  down  the  staircase 
as  if  they  were  flying  from  danger. 

I  found  them  below,  grouped  round  the  entrance  as 
they  had  been  in  the  morning ;  but  their  faces  were  very 
different.  The  pretty  eyes  of  little  Duretour  were 
sparkling  with  anger. 

"  She's  spoiled  our  nice  day  for  us,"  she  said. 

"  She's  very  hard  on  her  girls,"  Sandrine  affirmed, 
coming  up  to  me. 

She  came  closer  still  and  lowered  her  voice. 

"  She'll  come  back,  you  see,  when  the  marriage  dresses 
are  finished.  Every  season  she  comes  and  takes  our 
prettiest  models,  and  she  boasts  that  she  makes  her  cus- 
tomers pay  dear  for  them." 

Big  Bergeounette  laughed  funnily,  and  said  in  the  air, 
without  caring  whether  she  was  heard  or  not,  "  There's 
no  one  like  her  for  raking  in  the  money." 

"  I  wouldn't  work  for  her,"  growled  Bouledogue, 
showing  her  teeth,  "  even  if  I  was  starving." 

The  arrival  of  Duretour's  sweetheart  compelled  us  to 
separate,  and  each  of  us  went  off  bearing  her  grudge. 


II 

OCTOBER  had  come.  The  bridal  dresses  were  being 
finished  one  by  one,  and  soon  there  was  only  the  white 
robe  to  be  made  at  the  last  moment  in  order  to  preserve 
all  its  freshness. 

Sandrine  and  Bouledogue  had  this  work  to  do.  Mme. 
Dalignac  gave  them  white  aprons  which  covered  them 
down  to  the  ground,  and  they  took  their  places  for  the 
time  being  at  the  end  of  the  table. 

Mme.  Double  came  back  as  Sandrine  had  predicted. 
She  twirled  with  her  thumb  the  dummies  on  which  the 
dresses  were,  and  after  having  penciled  their  lines  on  a 
slip  of  paper,  she  left  the  workshop  as  she  had  entered 
it,  without  saying  a  word. 

"  She  takes  us  for  dogs,"  growled  the  voice  of  Boule- 
dogue  behind  her. 

At  the  same  moment  Duretour  turned  her  nose  up 
to  the  ceiling. 

"  G'  morning,  Ma'am,"  she  said  in  a  little  fluted 
voice. 

The  shelves  were  now  overflowing  with  materials, 
and  the  laughter  of  the  first  days  had  ceased.  On 
leaving  at  night,  there  was  no  more  time  spent  in  chat- 
ter in  the  light  of  the  gas-lamps.  Bergeounette,  who 
also  was  in  a  hurry,  did  not  always  go  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  her  home,  and  Duretour,  pressed  up  against  her 

16 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  17 

sweetheart,  dragged  him  swiftly  towards  the  Rue  de  la 
GaitS, 

Sandrine  lived  in  a  street  neighboring  mine,  and  we 
went  up  a  part  of  the  Avenue  dti  Maine  together. 
Once  she  left  me  to  run  up  to  her  Jacques,  who  had 
come  to  meet  her. 

I  had  often  heard  speak  of  Sandrine's  Jacques,  as  Ber- 
geounette  called  him.  But  when  I  saw  him  he  made 
me  think  of  something  unfinished.  He  was  much  taller 
than  Sandrine.  Yet  when  she  took  his  arm  in  hers,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  she  could  easily  have  carried  him  like 
a  little  child. 

Jacques  and  Sandrine  were  not  engaged,  like  little 
Duretour  and  her  mechanic.  They  were  lovers  who  had 
always  loved  each  other. 

Sandrine's  mother  had  brought  them  up  together,  and 
for  a  long  time  they  had  believed  that  they  were  brother 
and  sister.  Then  Jacques'  parents  had  taken  their  son 
away  to  put  him  to  college.  But  they  sent  him  back 
every  year  to  spend  his  holiday  in  the  little  village. 
Thus,  when  Sandrine  at  the  age  of  twenty  had  come  to 
Paris  to  look  for  work,  she  was  already  the  mother  of 
a  little  girl. 

She  had  confessed  it  without  fear  or  shame  to  Mme. 
Dalignac.  And  immediately  she  had  asked  to  be  al- 
lowed to  take  work  home  in  the  evening  in  order  to 
increase  her  earnings. 

She  knew  her  trade  thoroughly.  She  was  gentle  and 
gay.  And  from  the  first  Mme.  Dalignac  had  been  her 
friend. 


18  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Since  then  another  child  had  come  to  her,  a  little 
boy  who  was  nearing  his  third  year,  and  whom  the 
grandmother  was  bringing  up  in  the  country  with  the 
little  girl. 

Jacques  was  a  cashier  in  a  big  bank.  He  lived  with 
his  mother,  whom  he  supported  now  that  his  father  was 
dead,  but  he  spent  all  his  evenings  with  Sandrine,  add- 
ing columns  of  figures  that  never  ended.  They  used 
the  same  table  and  the  same  lamp,  and  both  of  them 
worked  courageously  until  midnight  to  earn  enough  to 
pay  for  the  keep  of  their  little  ones. 

For  the  moment  there  was  a  change  in  their  inti- 
macy. Jacques  no  longer  came  to  meet  Sandrine,  and 
he  left  her  working  alone  in  her  little  room.  Sandrine 
was  not  upset.  Jacques  had  told  her  that  he  was 
obliged  to  remain  with  his  mother,  who  was  very  un- 
well, and  this  explanation  was  sufficient.  She  remained 
calm  and  happy,  as  if  she  had  been  Jacques'  legal  wife. 

"  I  know  quite  well  that  my  Jacques  will  never  be 
able  to  marry  me,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  full  of  confi- 
dence. "  But  I  also  know  quite  well  that  nothing  can 
separate  us." 

I  owed  it  to  her  that  I  had  been  able  to  start  with 
Mme.  Dalignac.  Chance  had  brought  us  together  one 
Sunday  on  a  seat  on  the  boulevard.  We  had  spoken 
about  needlework,  and  she  had  suggested  that  I  should 
take  the  position  of  machinist  which  was  vacant  in  her 
workshop. 

I,  too,  had  at  once  taken  her  as  a  friend.  I  did  not 
know  whether  she  herself  felt  drawn  towards  me;  for 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  19 

she  seemed  indifferent  to  everything  except  her  Jacques 
and  her  children.  But  when  she  looked  at  me,  she  al- 
ways had  the  air  of  offering  me  something. 

On  the  day  fixed  for  the  marriage  of  our  young  cus- 
tomer, Sandrine  put  the  gown  into  a  cardboard  box,  in 
order  to  go  and  dress  the  bride  herself,  and  to  make 
certain  that  nothing  had  been  forgotten.  She  loved  this 
kind  of  work,  and  Mme.  Dalignac  knew  that  she  would 
do  it  thoroughly.  Therefore,  she  merely  showed  her 
the  way  to  arrange  the  veil  in  the  latest  fashion.  Above 
all,  the  crown  of  orange-blossom  must  hold  the  fold  of 
tulle  well  back. 

"  Look  .  .  .  like  this." 

Ajid  Mine.  Dalignac  draped  Duretour's  hair  with  a 
stiff  muslin,  and  picked  up  anywhere  a  strip  of  cloth, 
which  she  rolled  round  her  forehead  like  a  crown. 

Sandrine  did  not,  like  us,  laugh  at  Duretour's  indig- 
nant air.  She  followed  Mme.  Dalignac's  movements  at- 
tentively, and,  when  she  had  herself  turned  a  certain 
fold  beneath  the  strip  of  cloth,  she  set  out  lightly  and 
full  of  assurance. 

We  always  relaxed  a  little  when  an  important  order 
had  been  finished.  Bouledogue  took  her  time  over  things. 
The  patron  folded  his  arms,  and  Bergeounette  looked 
out  of  the  window  rather  more  than  was  necessary. 

After  Sandrine,  Bergeounette  was  the  senior  girl. 
She  had  taken  up  her  place  in  front  of  the  window,  and 
would  not  give  it  up  to  anybody. 


20          MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WOBKSHOP 

The  patron  used  to  assert  that  she  made  signs  to  a 
one-armed  man  who  passed  by  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  road,  but  Mme.  Dalignac  said  that  that  did  not  pre- 
vent her  from  sewing  very  quickly  and  very  well. 

Nobody  knew  the  real  name  of  Bergeounette  and 
nobody  troubled  about  it. 

The  first  day  she  entered  the  workshop  she  refused 
to  do  her  work  in  the  firm's  way,  maintaining  that  her 
own  way  was  quite  as  good.  The  patron,  who  did  not 
like  being  thwarted,  had  lost  his  temper,  and  shouted  at 
her  that  she  was  as  pig-headed  as  a  Breton  woman. 

"  I  am  one,"  she  immediately  answered  with  pride, 
sitting  up  erect.  "  I  am  a  real  Barzounette." 

"  How  do  you  say  it  ?  "  the  patron  laughed  at  her. 

But  Bergeounette  had  defied  him. 

"  I  say  it  like  that,  monsieur,"  she  said.  "  And  you 
can't  repeat  it,  because  people  from  the  south  can  never 
pronounce  the  word." 

The  patron  had  laughed  instead  of  showing  annoy- 
ance, and  he  had  yielded  to  her  obstinacy,  calling  her 
"  headstrong  Bergeounette." 

She  continued  to  show  the  same  obstinacy  in  every- 
thing that  did  not  fall  in  with  her  ideas.  The  infur- 
iated shouting  of  the  patron  and  mild  remonstrances 
of  his  wife  made  no  impression  on  her,  and  in  the  end 
it  was  always  necessary  to  yield  to  her. 

Apart  from  this  defect,  which  often  led  to  disputes, 
she  was  always  ready  to  help  others.  Moreover,  she 
was  even-tempered,  and  was  never  quarrelsome.  Her 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  21 

greatest  joy  was  to  have  listeners  when  she  spoke  of  her 
beloved  Brittany. 

"  The  moors  are  gray,"  she  would  say,  "  but  the  gorse 
in  flower  is  yellower  than  the  broom." 

She  spoke  of  the  sea  as  of  a  person  whom  she  had 
loved  tenderly. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  girl,"  she  said,  "  I  used  to  run 
down  to  the  rocks  to  see  it  better,  and  when  it  began  to 
foam,  I  thought  it  was  dressing  itself  for  a  celebration, 
and  that  all  the  waves  were  following  it  in  procession." 

On  days  of  high  winds,  Bergeounette  was  filled  with 
real  anxiety. 

"  There  are  fishing  boats  along  the  coast,"  sfye  never 
failed  to  remind  us. 

Sometimes  she  opened  the  window,  and  looked  at  the 
sky  as  if  to  seek  there  the  boats  which  were  in  danger. 
Then  she  stared  a  long  time  at  the  clouds,  and  often,  as 
she  sat  down  again,  she  sang  in  a  slow,  far-away 
voice  — 

"  D'ou  viens-tu,  beau  image, 

Apporte   par   le   vent? 
Viens-tu  de  cette  plago 
Quo  je  vois  en  revant  ? "  * 

Our  gayety  left  us  abruptly  on  the  return  of  Sandrine. 
She  came  back  from  our  customer's  with  a  face  so  up- 
set that  everybody  thought  that  something  had  hap- 
pened to  the  wedding-gown. 

i "  Whence  come  you,  lovely  cloud,  brought  by  the  wind  1    Do 
you  come  from  that  shore  which  I  see  when  dreaming  ? " 


22          MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

The  patron  and  his  wife  did  not  dare  to  question  her. 
They  waited  for  what  she  had  to  say,  but  she  passed  in 
front  of  them  without  speaking,  and,  instead  of  sitting 
down,  she  remained  standing  near  her  stool. 

Her  shoulders  were  huddled  up,  and  her  eyes  had 
widened  so  that  it  hurt  to  look  at  her.  And  suddenly 
she  turned  to  the  wall  to  rest  her  forehead  against  it. 

At  that  the  patron  could  hold  himself  in  no  longer. 
He  rushed  at  her  and  shouted  in  her  ears,  "  The  dress  ? 
The  dress  ?" 

Sandrine's  eyes  passed  over  him  and  us,  and  she  spoke 
immediately.  She  spoke  with  vehemence;  and  what 
she  had  to  say  was  so  entangled  that  it  seemed  as  though 
nobody  would  ever  understand  anything  of  it  at  all. 
However,  she  stopped.  Everybody  knew  that  the  dress 
fitted  well,  that  the  veil  had  been  arranged  in  the  new 
fashion,  and  that  poor  Sandrine  had  just  learned  that 
her  Jacques  had  married  a  week  ago  a  young,  well-to-do 
woman. 

There  was  a  sort  of  dismay  which  seemed  to  command 
silence.  Then  the  patron  lowered  his  head  and  re- 
treated to  his  stool,  while  his  wife  advanced  slowly 
towards  Sandrine,  as  if  drawn  to  her  against  her  will. 

It  was  Bouledogue  who  broke  the  silence  by  hurling 
insulting  words  at  the  absent  Jacques.  Bergeounette 
shook  her  shoulders  as  if  trying  to  throw  off  a  cloak  that 
irked  her.  Little  Duretour  began  to  weep  aloud.  And 
when  at  length  I  turned  once  more  to  the  sewing- 
machine,  I  perceived  that  I  was  hugging  the  oil-can 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  23 

against  my  chest,  and  that  the  oil  was  falling  drop  by 
drop  on  to  my  clothes. 

It  was  at  Jacques'  mother's  that  Sandrine  had  learned 
her  misfortune.  As  the  old  lady  had  always  been 
friendly  to  her,  she  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  desire, 
when  passing  her  house,  to  go  in  and  inquire  after  her 
health.  But  there,  instead  of  a  sick  woman,  she  had 
found  a  gay  and  healthy  person,  who  had  said  to  her 
immediately,  "  Jacques  has  made  a  fine  marriage." 

And  after  having  enlarged  at  length  on  the  happi- 
ness of  her  son  and  the  beauty  of  her  daughter-in-law, 
she  had  gently  sent  Sandrine  off. 

"  Run  and  dress  your  young  bride,"  she  had  said. 

Sandrine  wept  the  whole  day  through.  She  screamed 
like  a  little  child,  and  her  sorrow  seemed  to  us  so  great 
that  we  could  find  nothing  to  say  to  her. 

She  stopped  now  and  then  to  repeat  in  tones  full  of 
anguish,  "  Why,  oh  why  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  evening  before  Jacques  had  spent  a  few 
moments  in  her  little  room,  and  he  had  gone  away  with 
a  photograph  of  the  children.  And  Sandrine's  fore- 
head wrinkled  up,  and  her  look  seemed  to  turn  inwards, 
as  if  to  ransack  her  memory. 

"Why,  oh  why?" 

She  finally  went  to  sleep  against  the  wall,  and  the 
noise  of  the  stools  did  not  awaken  her  when  the  girls 
left  for  the  evening. 

I  remained  behind  to  await  her  awakening  in  order 
to  take  her  home.  Mme.  Dalignac  was  talking  of  drag- 


24:          MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

ging  out  the  chair-bedstead  from  its  corner,  and  of  pre- 
paring a  bed  in  the  workshop. 

Sandrine  was  awakened  by  the  noise  of  the  door-bell. 
It  was  Jacques,  who  had  come  to  make  inquiries.  He 
looked  frightened,  and  he  had  on  neither  hat  nor  over- 
coat, in  spite  of  the  wet  and  the  cold. 

Sandrine  trembled  all  over  when  she  saw  him,  and  he, 
as  he  came  forward,  seemed  to  be  imploring  for  pity. 

"  My  Sandrine !  "  he  said. 

And  Sandrine,  stretching  out  both  her  hands  as  if  to 
protect  him,  replied  immediately,  "  My  Jacques." 

Jacques'  face  expressed  so  deep  an  affection  that  it 
came  into  my  mind  that  nothing  had  changed  between 
them.  But  that  soon  passed  away,  for  both  began  to 
weep  most  woefully. 

Sandrine  did  not  reproach  him. 

"  How  am  I  going  to  bring  up  the  children  ?  "  was 
all  she  said  through  her  tears. 

Jacques  tried  to  speak  too,  but  the  words  he  had  to 
say  would  not  leave  his  mouth. 

His  voice  stopped  at  the  bottom  of  his  throat,  and  he 
squeezed  his  sweetheart's  hands  more  tightly  as  if  that 
were  enough  to  make  himself  understood.  Then  he  be- 
gan to  pull  at  the  back  of  a  chair  the  legs  of  which 
were  caught  in  the  cross-beam  of  the  table.  He  pulled 
hard,  and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  dragging  away  the 
chair,  he  breathed  with  satisfaction,  as  if  he  had  just 
done  some  absolutely  necessary  thing.  Shortly  after- 
wards his  frightened  air  came  back,  and  he  looked  in 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  25 

the  direction  of  the  door  with  a  movement  that  made 
him  strain  his  back. 

Sandrine  did  not  seek  to  detain  him,  but,  as  he  was 
leaving  her  to  go  back  to  his  new  wife,  she  smoothed  out 
with  the  tips  of  her  fingers  the  cracks  formed  by  the 
folds  in  the  front  of  his  shirt. 

On  the  morrow  nobody  saw  her  weep. 

But  she  retained  a  convulsive  movement  which  pulled 
her  mouth  harshly.  And  at  all  times  her  eyes  would 
wander  round  the  work-shop  as  if  seeking  for  some  lost 
object. 


Ill 

AI.L  SAINTS'  DAY  was  approaching,  and  all  our  cus- 
tomers were  demanding  their  clothes  for  that  day.  An 
activity  full  of  dread  filled  the  workshop.  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac  distributed  the  work  with  a  careworn  forehead,  and 
the  instructions  she  gave  in  an  absent-minded  way  were 
not  always  understood.  Bergeounette,  who  no  longer 
allowed  herself  time  to  look  through  the  window,  took 
badly  any  remarks  about  her  work ;  and  Duretour,  who 
could  laugh  no  longer,  began  to  cry  at  the  slightest  re- 
proach. Bouledogue  growled,  and  said  that  we  were 
doing  the  work  of  two  days  in  one.  Nobody  answered 
her,  but  the  jumpiness  increased.  A  reel  of  cotton 
would  roll  under  the  table,  or  a  pair  of  scissors  fall 
noisily  to  the  floor. 

Bouledogue  never  arrived  late  at  the  workshop,  but 
she  never  gave  a  minute  longer  to  her  work  than  was 
due  from  her.  At  noon  or  on  the  stroke  of  seven,  she 
got  up  from  her  stool,  and  if  one  of  us  lingered  to  fin- 
ish a  few  sitches,  she  looked  at  her  crossly  and  said, 
"  One  day's  work's  enough." 

She  was  now  in  an  endless  bad  temper,  and  she  bull- 
ied everybody.  Mme  Dalignac  tried  to  soothe  her. 

"  Come,  Bouledogue,"  she  said,  "  a  little  more  heart 
to  it,  and  we  shall  soon  be  less  busy." 

26 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  27 

But  Bouledogue,  instead  of  being  soothed,  reared  up 
and  replied  very  loudly,  "  If  you  didn't  always  say  Yes 
to  your  customers,  they  would  be  obliged  to  wait  until 
their  dresses  were  ready." 

She  sat  down,  trembling  a  little. 

"  I,  too,"  she  added,  "  would  like  a  new  dress  for  All 
Saints'  Day.  Yet  I've  got  to  go  without  one." 

The  patron  could  hold  himself  no  longer.  He  rushed 
at  Bouledogue. 

"  My  wife  is  a  saint !  "  he  shouted  at  her  full  in  the 
face.  "  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

And  Bouledogue,  who  was  not  yet  appeased,  replied 
by  pushing  him  away  with  her  elbow. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said. 

When  Bouledogue  was  angry,  her  voice  seemed  to 
mount  up  from  the  depths  of  her  being.  She  rever- 
berated rumblingly,  and  reminded  you  of  an  ax  striking 
an  oak.  The  patron  was  intimidated  by  it,  and  Ber- 
geounette,  who  feared  nothing  and  nobody,  held  her 
peace  at  such  times. 

On  the  following  day,  Sandrine  did  not  turn  up. 
Mme.  Dalignac  perceived  immediately  that  she  was  not 
in  her  place.  And  as  none  of  us  knew  the  cause  of  her 
absence,  she  talked  of  sending  some  one  to  her  house, 
fearing  that  she  might  be  ill. 

Big  Bergeounette  was  already  taking  off  her  apron; 
but  the  patron  bore  her  down  strongly  by  the  shoulders 
to  make  her  keep  her  place. 

"  Bergeounette,"  he  said,  "  has  always  one  foot  in 
the  air  ready  to  run  out." 


28          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

He  himself  thought  that  Sandrine  was  only  late,  and 
that  she  would  arrive  in  a  minute  or  two. 

The  fear  that  Sandrine  might  be  ill  came  to  me  too. 
For  two  days  past,  she  had  had  a  heavy  cold,  and  the 
evening  before,  when  returning  home  in  the  rain,  she 
had  had  great  difficulty  in  walking  up  the  avenue  with 
her  parcel  of  work,  which,  however,  was  not  very  heavy. 

I  wanted  to  tell  Mme.  Dalignac  this,  but  little  Dure- 
tour  was  explaining  how  she  had  almost  stayed  away 
herself,  because  her  betrothed  had  wished  to  leave  her. 

Her  voice  rang  with  laughter,  and  the  patron  put  on 
a  voice  full  of  pitying  mockery. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  he  said,  forcing  his  accent,  "  at 
least,  you  kept  your  man  ?  " 

"  He  is  as  obstinate  as  I  am,"  said  Duretour.  "  He 
wanted  to  walk  along  the  Avenue  du  Maine,  and  I 
wanted  to  go  along  the  Boulevard  Montparnasse.  Then 
he  lost  his  temper.  He  took  his  arm  away  from  my 
waist,  and  off  he  went  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry 
him." 

"  And  you  ran  behind  him  like  a  little  dog  ?  "  said 
the  patron  once  more. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Duretour.  "  When  I  saw  that  he 
was  really  off  for  good,  I  lost  my  head,  and  shouted  out, 
<  Stop  thief ' !  " 

Nobody  felt  like  laughing.  We  were  thinking  of 
Sandrine  and  the  urgent  work,  and  Duretour  did  not 
dare  to  tell  the  end  of  her  story. 

Sandrine  arrived  at  the  moment  when  everybody 
had  stopped  thinking  about  her. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  29 

She  came  to  ask  for  permission  to  rest  all  day.  Her 
excuse  was  that  she  felt  feverish,  and  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  work.  Her  eyes  were  shining  and 
her  lips  red,  but  her  face  seemed  to  have  shrunk. 

Almost  immediately  she  had  a  fit  of  coughing.  You 
might  have  said  that  she  had  something  cracked  in  her 
throat,  and  Duretour  cried  out  to  her,  "  Stop,  stop ! 
You  are  coughing  like  an  old  gentleman." 

Sandrine  began  laughing  in  spite  of  her  cough.  Then 
she  said,  striking  her  chest  with  her  clenched  fist, 
"  It's  the  first  time  that  a  cold  has  hurt  me  so 
much." 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone,  Mme.  Dalignac  began  to  get 
uneasy  about  her,  and  the  patron  grumbled,  "  It  would 
be  the  last  straw  if  she  went  and  fell  ill." 

On  the  following  day  she  was  still  away,  and  Dure- 
tour, who  had  gone  to  make  inquiries,  reported  that 
the  fever  had  increased,  and  that  Sandrine  was  unable 
to  get  up. 

Mme.  Dalignac's  eyes  stayed  for  a  long  moment  on 
the  half-finished  dresses  which  lay  about  everywhere. 
And  the  patron  began  to  talk  of  taking  on  another  girl 
to  replace  Sandrine.  But  his  wife  stopped  him  from 
worrying  himself  further  by  saying,  "  I'll  work  every 
evening  until  midnight,  that's  all." 

She  added,  with  a  slightly  embarrassed  air,  turning 
to  us :  "  If  one  of  you  would  like  to  do  the  same,  we'll 
keep  company." 

Nobody  answered.  But  in  the  evening,  as  the  clock 
struck  nine,  Bergeounette  arrived  at  the  same  time  as 


30  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

I  did.  And  almost  immediately  Bouledogue  entered  as 
well. 

The  patron  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  her.  He 
could  not  believe  that  she  wanted  to  work  late  too. 

"  Oh,  it's  for  Sandrine,"  replied  Bouledogue  in  her 
ungracious  way. 

And  every  one  began  work  in  silence. 

The  patron  had  taken  a  corner  of  the  table.  He 
began  to  draw  an  embroidery  trimming  for  a  mantle, 
and  although  his  crayon  often  broke  in  his  fingers,  he 
did  not  fret  about  it  as  was  usual. 

The  following  evenings  were  more  animated. 

Bouledogue  and  the  patron  squabbled  with  one  an- 
other, or  else  Bergeounette  complained  of  the  unbear- 
able life  she  was  leading  at  home. 

Bergeounette's  complaints  always  had  something  so 
comical  about  them  that  nobody  pitied  her.  Even  on 
the  morning  when  she  arrived  with  a  black  eye  and  a 
bleeding  cheek,  everybody  began  to  laugh  when,  in  a 
comically  sad  tone,  she  said,  "  If  my  husband  didn't 
beat  me,  I  should  be  the  happiest  of  women." 

Sewing  quietly  in  the  lamplight,  she  always  managed 
to  forget  her  troubles,  and  no  evening  came  to  an  end 
without  her  having  spoken  at  length  about  the  sea  and 
her  Brittany. 

She  often  repeated  the  same  things,  but  we  did  not 
grow  tired  of  hearing  them,  and  it  was  as  though  she 
were  beginning  again  a  very  beautiful  song,  when  she 
said,  "  The  sea  is  a  blind  and  deaf  being  whose  power 
and  strength  is  limitless.  It  howls,  it  strikes,  it  crushes, 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  31 

and  its  waves,  hurled  at  the  coasts  like  mad  horsemen, 
tears  them  and  crumbles  them  endlessly." 

"  The  sea's  a  cruel  beast,"  growled  Bouledogue  with 
a  little  fear. 

But  Bergeounette  went  on  quickly. 

"  There  are  days  when  it  is  so  peaceful  and  so  soft 
that  you  want  to  lie  down  on  it  and  sleep  a  long,  long 
time.  Then,  without  your  being  able  to  say  why,  it 
begins  suddenly  to  dance  in  the  sun.  It  is  like  a  woman 
whirling  the  folds  of  her  dress.  And  the  waves  covered 
with  foam  are  like  a  multitude  of  white  petticoats." 

We  listened  to  her,  and  nobody  would  have  dared  to 
interrupt  her  when  she  recited  like  a  litany  the  names 
of  the  fishing-boats  and  the  fishermen  of  the  little  port 
in  which  she  was  born  — 

"  Notre-Dame  de  Souffrance,  belonging  to  Locmael." 

"  La  Volante,  belonging  to  young  Turbe." 

"  Le  Forban,  belonging  to  old  Guiscrif." 

The  evening  on  which  she  spoke  of  the  fishing-nets 
drying  at  the  end  of  the  masts,  and  floating  lighter  and 
more  delicate  than  a  bride's  veil,  she  firmly  asserted, 
"  There  are  some  of  them  as  blue  as  the  robe  of  the 
Virgin  Mary  in  May." 

On  the  day  after  All  Saints'  Day  I  did  not  find  my 
companions  at  the  workshop.  They  were  at  the  ceme- 
tery, and  the  patron  asked  me  why  I  had  not  gone  too. 

It  was  raining,  and  I  replied  that  I  preferred  to  work 
rather  than  to  be  walking  about  in  such  dirty  weather. 

"  It's  not  a  walk,  it's  a  visit  to  our  dead,"  he  shouted 
as  if  he  were  angry. 


32  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

It  amused  me  a  little  to  see  him  so  furious. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  laughing,  "  but  I  have  no  dead." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  just  said  something  ex- 
traordinary, and  then  he  went  out  to  go  himself  to  the 
cemetery. 

Mme.  Dalignac  was  already  sewing  in  Sandrine's 
place.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  been  alone  with 
her.  She  looked  at  me  in  the  same  way  as  the  patron 
had  done,  before  saying  to  me,  "  You  are  lucky  to  have 
no  dead." 

"  It  is  because  I  have  no  living  either,"  I  said. 

She  stopped  sewing  with  a  very  marked  air  of  aston- 
ishment. Then  her  lips  moved  as  if  to  ask  me  a  ques- 
tion, and  finally  she  said  rather  quickly,  "  When  you 
first  came  here,  I  thought  you  were  as  young  as  Dure- 
tour,  but  as  time  went  on  I  knew  that  you  had  left 
twenty  behind." 

She  stopped  speaking,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  a 
sort  of  embarrassment  prevented  her  from  looking  at 
me  when  she  asked  me  a  moment  afterwards,  "  Do  you 
live  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

She  stopped  again.  My  replies  appeared  to  increase 
her  embarrassment.  However,  she  went  on  in  a  playful 
way,  "  You  have  a  lover,  of  course  ? " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

She  blushed  as  she  continued,  "  I  mean  ...  a 
sweetheart,  anyhow,  some  one  who  loves  you." 

I  do  not  know  why  I  thought  of  Sandrine  and  her 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  33 

Jacques,  and  I  replied  plainly  once  again,  "  No? 
ma'am." 

But  at  the  same  moment  there  came  into  my  mind 
the  picture  of  an  old,  affectionate  face,  and  in  turn  I 
continued,  "  Yes,  I  have,  though ;  Mile.  Herminie  loves 
me." 

And  seeing  Mme.  Dalignac  all  attention,  I  hastened 
to  explain. 

"  She's  a  very  old  neighbor  I  do  little  services  for, 
and  she  rewards  me  by  telling  me  stories." 

Mme.  Dalignac  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

"  You  have  in  her  a  good  grandmother  \  " 

The  truth  was  so  different  that  I  replied  immediately, 
"  Oh,  no,  she's  more  like  my  little  child." 

There  was  a  silence ;  then,  as  if  it  hurt  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac somewhat  to  hear  it,  she  raised  her  head,  and  our 
eyes  met.  She  lowered  hers  first,  but  it  seemed  to  me 
that  they  had  the  same  expression  as  Sandrine's,  and 
that  she  too  had  just  offered  me  something. 

The  patron  returned  somewhere  about  the  middle  of 
the  morning.  He  brought  Sandrine  back  with  him; 
he  had  met  her  in  a  path  of  the  cemetery.  She  was 
breathless,  and  her  clothes  retained  a  smell  of  damp 
earth. 

"  The  graves  are  all  drenched  with  water,"  she  said 
with  a  tired  air,  as  she  sat  down. 

Mme.  Dalignac  scolded  her  softly. 

"  Seeing  that  you  are  ill,"  she  said,  "  you  shouldn't 
have  gone  out  in  such  fearful  weather." 


34          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

"  But  I  am  not  ill,"  Sandrine  protested.  "  I've  only 
got  a  cold."  And  her  black  eyes  had  a  sort  of  anxiety 
in  them  when  she  repeated,  "  I  am  not  ill,  I  assure  you." 

Mme.  Dalignac  smiled  to  reassure  her. 

"  We  know  that  quite  well,"  she  said,  "  but  you  might 
have  gone  to  the  cemetery  some  other  day."  She  added, 
as  if  she  attached  no  importance  to  it  all,  "  Cemeteries 
don't  fly  away,  and  the  dead  have  the  time  to  wait." 

"  I'll  return  to  work  to-morrow,"  said  Sandrine  al- 
most immediately. 

She  wanted  to  say  something  else,  but  her  voice  be- 
came hoarse  before  she  had  finished  the  first  word,  and 
she  had  a  fit  of  coughing. 

She  coughed  jerkily  with  a  sort  of  impatience.  She 
breathed  strongly,  and  made  violent  efforts  to  tear  from 
her  chest  something  which  appeared  to  have  taken  root 
there  deeply.  Her  cough  had  still  the  same  hollow  and 
cracked  sounds,  but  to-day  it  seemed  to  stir  up  a  thick 
and  moving  thing  which  remained  hooked  to  the  bottom. 

She  was  obliged  to  sit  down;  her  face  went  quite 
white,  and  the  sweat  rolled  down  her  forehead.  She 
made  another  effort  to  cough.  There  was  a  dry  snap 
in  her  throat,  like  the  breaking  of  a  stout  wire.  Then 
she  struck  her  chest  with  her  clenched  fist,  as  she  had 
done  the  first  time,  and  she  said,  laughing,  "  I  must 
really  get  rid  of  this  cold." 

She  hitched  up  her  cape,  which  was  slipping  from 
her  shoulders,  and  she  went  away,  coughing  afresh. 

Her  departure  left  behind  it  a  sense  of  uneasiness. 
The  patron  remained  standing  without  speaking,  and 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  35 

Mme.  Dalignac,  who  was  holding  her  hands  flat  against 
her  work,  abruptly  said,  "  There  are  some  colds  which 
kill." 

The  patron  pulled  his  jacket  round  his  chest,  as  if 
he  had  suddenly  felt  cold.  Then  he  drew  his  stool  up 
next  to  his  wife,  and  the  silence  returned. 

On  the  following  day,  Sandrine  coughed  much  less. 
But  she  remained  short  of  breath  and  very  hoarse,  and 
her  cough  always  seemed  to  catch  at  something  in  her 
chest. 

From  time  to  time,  the  patron  asked  her  gayly,  "  How 
goes  it,  Sandrine  ?  " 

"  It's  going  on  all  right,"  replied  Sandrine  just  as 
gayly  and  imitating  the  patron's  accent. 

The  workshop  was  now  calm.  The  threads  of  all 
colors  covering  the  work-table  could  be  seen  and  the 
basket  of  braids  and  hooks  and  eyes  was  very  tidy. 
There  were  no  more  exclamations  of  impatience  or  tired 
nerves,  when  it  became  necessary  to  search  for  a  piece 
of  lace  or  a  lining  which  had  fallen  under  the  table, 
and  which  one  of  us  was  treading  on  without  seeing  it. 

The  patron  no  longer  blundered  into  the  dummies 
when  passing  from  one  room  to  another,  and  Mme. 
Dalignac's  face  had  that  restful  look  which  was  so  pleas- 
ant to  see. 

Everybody  listened  when  Bergeounette  sang  or  told 
a  story.  She  had  a  very  muffled  voice,  and  her  high 
notes  reminded  you  of  a  cheap  whistle;  but  her  low 
notes  were  full  and  very  soft  to  the  ear. 

She  spoke  with  ease,  and  could  not  bear  an  ill-sound- 


36          MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

ing  word.  And  when  one  of  us  wanted  to  know  whether 
a  word  was  French  or  not,  she  asserted  authoritatively, 
"  I  know,  I  tell  you,  I  have  my  certificates." 

Bouledogue  could  not  turn  phrases  like  Bergeounette. 
She  flung  her  words  away  from  her  as  you  throw  a  stone, 
and  it  always  seemed  as  though  she  were  going  to  de- 
molish something.  She  sang  but  seldom,  although  her 
voice  was  finer  than  Bergeounette's. 

Since  we  had  been  less  busy,  she  grumbled  less,  and 
one  day  she  said,  "  The  work  should  always  be  man- 
aged like  this." 

Mme.  Dalignac  came  up. 

"  I  should  like  it  just  as  much  as  you  do,"  she  said, 
"  but  if  I  had  to  turn  my  customers  away,  we  should 
have  nothing  more  to  do  now,  and  I  should  be  obliged  to 
turn  you  away  too." 

Bouledogue  scowled,  then  she  went  on,  "  Since  we  do 
more  work  at  the  busy  times,  we  ought  to  be  paid  more." 

Mme.  Dalignac  shook  her  head  in  the  way  you  do 
when  you  know  that  something  is  impossible,  and  Ber- 
geounette laughed. 

"  You'd  perhaps  like  to  make  a  revolution,"  she  said. 

Bouledogue  showed  her  teeth,  and  her  voice  rolled 
a  little  as  she  replied,  "  Work  should  never  be  a  toil." 

I  knew  that  Mme.  Dalignac  was  defenseless  against 
the  demands  of  her  customers,  and  that  it  hurt  her  very 
much  to  have  to  ask  her  price  for  her  costumes.  But 
what  Bouledogue  had  just  said  appeared  to  me  to  be  so 
right  that  I  was  preparing  to  come  to  her  support,  when 
Bergeounette  forestalled  me. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  37 

"  Here's  another  one  going  to  preach  now,"  she  said. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  had  reproved  me 
in  this  way,  and  I  was  therefore  covered  with  confusion, 
and  I  merely  looked  at  Mme.  Dalignac. 

The  patron  did  not  like  arguments.  He  changed 
the  subject  by  asking  Bergeounette  to  sing  one  of  her 
country  songs.  And  Bergeounette,  who  was  still  laugh- 
ing at  us,  sang  a  very  old  song,  of  which  she  often 
hummed  the  tune  — 

"Dans  le  bon  vieux  temps, 

Me  dit  souvent  ma  grand'mere.  .  .  . 

Dans  le  bon  vieux  temps, 
Un  jupon  durait  cent  ans."  x 

This  made  everybody  laugh;  but  Mme.  Dalignac's 
careworn  look  soon  returned.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on 
me  in  her  turn,  and  said  as  if  answering  my  reproach, 
"  I  have  to  work  as  hard  as  you,  and  my  share  of  the 
money  is  often  the  smallest." 

She  stepped  backwards  the  three  paces  which  sepa- 
rated her  from  her  cutting  table,  without  ceasing  to 
look  at  me,  and  Bergeounette  began  another  verse  of 
her  song. 

i "  In  the  good  old  times,  my  grandmother  often  told  me  ... 
in  the  good  old  times,  a  petticoat  lasted  a  hundred  years." 


IV 

THE  end  of  December  brought  with  it  the  dead  sea- 
son, and  we  had  to  separate  once  more.  Bouledogue 
left  first,  to  take  a  situation  in  a  manufactory  of  pre- 
served foods.  Up  to  the  present,  she  had  employed  the 
time  during  which  she  was  out  of  work  in  making  fine 
underclothes  with  a  friend,  but  the  friend  had  just  gone 
abroad,  and  Bouledogue  did  not  know  where  to  go  to  get 
the  same  kind  of  work. 

She  maintained  her  grandmother,  with  whom  she 
lived.  Her  earnings  were  soon  spent,  and  a  day's  work 
lost  condemned  the  two  women  to  privation. 

After  Sandrine  she  was  the  best  needlewoman  in  the 
workshop.  It  was  no  use  asking  her  for  new  ideas,  or 
leaving  her  to  arrange  a  trimming  according  to  her 
taste,  but  when  she  had  said,  "  I've  finished  stitching 
that  dress,"  you  could  rely  on  her  work,  for  she  never 
forgot  anything. 

On  the  day  of  her  departure,  she  turned  towards  the 
empty  shelves,  as  if  she  owed  them  a  grudge,  and  there 
was  a  heavy  rumble  in  her  voice  while  she  said,  "  When 
grandmother  left  herself  without  enough  to  eat  in  ordf r 
to  let  me  learn  a  fine  trade,  she  little  suspected  that  I 
should  nevertheless  have  to  go  to  the  factory." 

Sandrine  was  the  only  one  who  remained.     Mme. 

38 


39 

Dalignac  shared  with  her  the  small  quantity  of  work 
brought  by  her  customers. 

I  left  in  turn,  and,  on  the  following  day,  I  was  taken 
on  by  a  furrier  who  was  asking  for  workgirls  for  a  job 
he  had  in  hand. 

The  wages  offered  were  much  higher  than  those  paid 
by  Mme.  Dalignac,  and  for  that  reason  I  gave  my  whole 
attention  to  this  new  work.  My  fingers  soon  learned 
to  manipulate  the  squared  needle,  but  I  immediately  ex- 
perienced a  great  difficulty  in  breathing.  Thousands 
and  thousands  of  fine  hairs  escaped  from  the  furs,  and 
floated  about  in  the  air.  An  unbearable  tickling  took 
me  in  the  throat,  and  I  coughed  without  stopping. 

The  others  advised  me  to  drink  a  lot  of  water.  But 
the  cough  began  again  a  minute  afterwards.  At  the 
end  of  a  few  hours  I  began  to  bleed  violently  at  the 
nose.  And  the  same  evening  the  patron  showed  me  the 
door. 

"  Off  you  go,"  he  said.     "  You're  no  good  here." 

The  fear  of  being  out  of  work  for  a  long  time  made 
me  seek  a  new  job.  I  found  it  in  a  firm  of  menders, 
where  I  gave  my  whole  mind  to  my  work.  But  here 
again  I  came  up  against  a  serious  disadvantage.  In 
front  of  the  shop,  which  was  already  ill-lit,  men  of  all 
ages  stopped  each  minute  to  look  at  the  menders  seated 
in  a  row.  Some  of  them  came  so  near  and  remained  so 
long,  blocking  out  the  daylight,  that  at  last  I  could  no 
longer  see  the  pattern  of  the  threads,  and  I  botched  my 
darns.  And  in  spite  of  my  desire  to  do  my  best,  I  had 
to  leave  to  get  away  from  the  patronne's  complaints. 


40          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Tired  of  looking  for  employment  in  which  I  might 
use  my  skill,  I  decided  to  go  into  a  firm  which  my  old 
neighbor,  Mile.  Herminie,  had  just  left.  The  work 
consisted  of  sewing  strips  of  leather  and  flannel  on  to 
cylinders  intended  for  printing  machines.  It  was  hard 
work  which  had  to  be  done  standing,  and  which  had 
made  MJle.  Herminie  hunchbacked  in  less  than  three 
months.  I  left  it  at  the  end  of  the  first  week,  for  I 
felt  that  I  should  become  hunchbacked  too. 

Sandrine,  whom  I  often  met  in  the  street,  pressed 
me  to  come  and  spend  my  time  in  the  workshop  instead 
of  remaining  alone  in  my  room. 

I  found  Bergeounette  there;  she  had  never  stopped 
coming.  Her  husband  would  neither  feed  her  nor  tol- 
erate her  at  home  doing  nothing;  and,  during  every 
period  of  unemployment,  there  were  endless  battles  be- 
tween them. 

She  was  strong  and  hardy,  and  she  fought  her  hus- 
band without  fear.  But  now  and  then  she  received  an 
unlucky  blow  which  left  her  fearful  and  trembling. 
Therefore,  to  avoid  disputes,  she  pretended  to  work  for 
a  part  of  the  day.  She  carried  her  work  about  with  her, 
but  she  did  not  go  far  with  it.  Her  principal  occupa- 
tion was  to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  she  always  went 
downstairs  when  the  one-armed  man  passed. 

I  was  so  comfortable  in  the  workshop  that  I  forgot 
the  worries  of  the  dead  season.  Like  Bergeounette, 
I  brought  my  underclothes  with  me  to  repair.  They 
had  neither  lace  nor  ornament,  and  she  poked  fun  at 


41 

them,  saying,  "  That  stuff's  not  worth  the  trouble  of 
mending.  You  darn  it  in  one  place,  and  it  tears  in 
another." 

Like  her,  too,  I  often  went  up  to  the  window,  and  she 
was  astonished  to  see  me  looking  over  the  roofs  instead 
of  watching  the  people  passing  by  in  the  avenue.  She 
pointed  to  the  sky,  and  said  maliciously,  "  He  won't 
come  from  up  there." 

Sometimes  I  brought  with  me  a  book  wrapped  up  in 
the  same  paper  as  the  bread  for  my  lunch.  The  patron 
turned  over  the  leaves,  and  gave  it  back  to  me  quickly, 
and  in  a  scolding  tone  he  said,  "  You  have  a  passion  for 
reading,  eh  ? " 

This  reproof  had  been  flung  at  me  so  often  that  I 
had  acquired  the  habit  of  excusing  myself  by  replying 
that  I  only  read  in  odd  moments,  or  during  the  night, 
when  I  could  not  sleep. 

In  spite  of  the  lack  of  work,  Bergeounette  retained 
her  full  face,  and  her  lunch  was  as  copious  as  in  the 
past. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  felt  very  run  down.  My  cheeks 
were  hollowed  about  the  jaws,  and  my  neck  no  longer 
filled  the  collar  of  my  blouse.  The  patron  teased  me 
about  it. 

"  Your  nose  is  growing  longer,"  he  said. 

Sandrine  laughed  with  me,  and  Bergeounette  asserted 
that  reading  was  not  so  filling  as  dry  bread. 

Bergeounette  was  not  very  fond  of  me.  It  annoyed 
her  to  see  me  remain  half  the  morning  without  speak- 


42          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

ing  and  without  moving  my  feet,  and  she  accused  me 
of  only  liking  silence. 

Yet  when  she  sang,  or  told  a  story,  I  always  listened 
to  her  with  great  pleasure,  and  many  times  I  had  asked 
for  the  end  of  a  tale  which  the  patron  had  interrupted. 

She  was  not  very  fond  of  my  face  either.  She  said 
that  she  could  not  tell  how  it  was  made.  She  looked 
at  her  own  in  a  little  mirror,  and  when  she  had  made 
certain  that  it  was  still  brown  and  solid-looking,  she 
expressed  astonishment  that  mine  should  be  sometimes 
pale  and  washed  out,  as  if  I  were  ill,  and  sometimes 
startling  in  ii  freshness,  as  if  I  possessed  the  finest 
health  in  the  world.  And  although  there  were  never  any 
squabbles  between  us,  we  appeared  to  be  separated  by 
an  obstacle  which  neither  of  us  could  ever  surmount. 

It  was  not  long  before  little  Duretour  too  came 
and  spent  a  few  hours  with  us.  But  she  brought  no 
sewing  with  her.  Her  gayety  was  sufficient  to  occupy 
her.  She  amused  herself  hopping  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  and  she  never  finished  telling  us  of  the  lovely 
outings  she  had  on  Sundays  with  her  sweetheart.  She 
aped  actresses  and  ballet-dancers.  Or  else  she  imitated 
the  studied  gestures  of  a  restaurant  waiter  about  to 
carve  some  costly  bird.  And  while  she  pretended  to 
carve  the  thread-basket  holding  her  elbows  in  the  air 
and  her  fingers  like  pigeons'  wings,  she  seemed  herself 
to  be  some  delicate  and  very  precious  bird. 

There  were  long  discussions  between  her  and  Bergeou- 
nette  on  the  subject  of  food.  Bergeounette  talked  of 
calves'  sweetbread,  which  she  liked  very  much.  But 


YARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  43 

Duretour  did  not  like  calves'  sweetbread.  She  said  with 
a  little  grimace  of  disgust,  "  It's  good  enough  for  old 
men  who  haven't  any  teeth." 

And  she  laughed,  disclosing  her  own,  which  were 
brighter  than  fine  porcelain. 

She  talked  of  theaters  and  restaurants,  with  such  de- 
tails that  the  patron  said,  "  She  will  end  up  by  falling 
to  riches." 

Yet  she  had  no  desire  for  luxury.  She  even  confessed 
that  she  often  felt  intimidated  among  people  outside. 

Her  sweetheart  was  no  bolder.  One  day,  when  they 
had  tried  to  play  at  being  rich,  they  had  gone  to  the 
Champs-Elysees  in  a  cab,  and  both  had  got  down  to  look 
at  the  dainties  in  a  confectioner's  shop.  But  they  re- 
mained so  long  in  front  of  the  shop  that  the  cabman 
went  to  sleep  on  his  seat.  Neither  of  them  had  dared  to 
disturb  him,  and  they  had  walked  up  and  down  the  pave- 
ment awaiting  his  awakening. 

^Yhen  Duretour  had  nothing  new  to  tell  us,  she  glued 
her  forehead  against  the  window-pane.  But  she  paid 
no  attention  to  the  passersby  or  to  the  stretch  of  sky 
above  the  roofs.  The  only  thing  that  interested  her 
were  the  funerals  which  passed  the  whole  day  along  the 
Avenue  du  Maine. 

The  moment  she  saw  the  hearse  of  the  poor,  which, 
light  and  flimsy,  came  along  quickly,  jumping  in  an 
awkward  way  on  the  granite  setts,  she  said,  "  Ha,  here 
comes  a  grasshopper !  " 

But  when  a  hearse,  heavy  with  plumes  and  flowers, 
came  slowly  up  the  avenue,  she  swelled  out  her  cheeks, 


44          MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

to  say  with  exaggerated  respect,  "  That  now  is  an  im- 
portant death." 

She  also  tried  to  make  signs  to  the  masons  opposite, 
but  they  no  longer  wasted  any  time  looking  at  the  work- 
shop. The  rain  drenched  them  unceasingly  and  their 
red  and  blue  belts  disappeared  beneath  the  lime-sacks 
which  they  put  round  their  shoulders. 

It  was  their  turn  to  be  busy.  The  trowels  dipped 
without  stopping  into  the  hods  full  of  mortar;  and  the 
stones  mounted  up  and  the  height  of  the  walls  rapidly 
increased. 

The  tumbrils  still  spilt  their  sand  and  stone  on  to 
the  pavement,  but  the  stones  now  rolled  into  the  mud 
with  a  dull  sound,  and  the  winter  wind  prevented  us 
from  hearing  the  fresh  and  silky  slipping  of  the  sand. 


IN  January,  Sandrine  had  a  serious  relapse.  For 
the  first  two  days,  she  took  no  notice  of  my  attentions, 
but,  as  soon  as  her  fever  had  abated,  she  begged  me  to 
go  and  get  her  some  work. 

The  patron  shouted,  taking  his  head  into  both  his 
hands,  "  It's  terrible.  .  .  .  Where  will  she  get  the 
strength  to  work  ?  " 

And  bent  up  he  took  a  turn  round  the  room,  as  if  he 
were  looking  for  help  beneath  the  table  or  behind  the 
stools. 

Mme.  Dalignac  made  one  big  gesture  of  impotence, 
and  prepared  the  parcel  of  work,  which  I  carried  away 
immediately. 

I  found  Sandrine  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  stitching  at  a 
little  boy's  breeches.  Her  black  hair  hid  one-half  of 
her  cheeks,  ringlets  strayed  beneath  her  chin.  She  was 
breathing  with  difficulty ;  from  her  chest  came  a  gurgling 
noise,  and  her  lips  were  dry  and  cracked. 

She  undid  the  parcel  quickly,  and  the  breeches,  which 
she  flung  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  remained  puffed  out  at 
the  bottom. 

I  returned  each  day  to  Sandrine.  I  sometimes  ar- 
rived very  early,  but  I  always  found  her  sitting  with  her 

work  scattered  over  the  bedclothes.     Her  cape,  which 

45 


46 

she  kept  over  her  shoulders,  covered  her  figure  and  was 
spread  around  her.  And  her  whole  body,  which  was 
lying  crossways,  was  stretched  towards  the  window. 

She  exhibited  no  ill-temper  on  account  of  the  dull 
weather.  She  merely  said,  "  If  ever  I  become  rich,  I 
will  have  a  house  built  which  will  be  all  windows." 

There  were  days  when  the  rain  flowed  so  heavily 
over  the  sloping  window-pane  that  it  made  a  sort  of 
curtain  which  prevented  the  daylight  from  entering. 
At  other  times,  the  wind  shook  the  framework  as  if  it 
was  trying  to  tear  it  away  and  carry  it  afar.  And 
when  the  wind  and  the  rain  came  together,  a  damp  cold 
entered  the  room,  and  penetrated  right  into  Sandrine's 
bed. 

She  drew  her  clothes  more  closely  around  her,  and 
brought  up  her  feet  beneath  her,  but  fatigue  compelled 
her  to  stretch  her  limbs.  Then  she  would  say  with  a 
little  regret,  "  When  I  am  rested,  the  warmth  goes 
away." 

I  suffered  with  the  cold  too,  and  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  lit  a  fire,  but  there  was  neither  stove  nor  fire- 
place in  the  room.  The  room  was  so  little  that  the  bed 
took  up  the  whole  length  of  one  side.  The  other  side 
was  filled  by  a  table  and  two  chairs,  and  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  sit  down  in  the  passage  in  the  middle. 

There  were  rows  of  shelves  nearly  everywhere,  but 
the  most  noticeable  thing  in  the  room  was  the  number 
of  photographs  of  children.  A  little  boy  and  a  little 
girl,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  holding  hands.  And 
above  the  table,  at  the  spot  where  the  fireplace  might 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  47 

have  been,  a  frame  larger  than  the  others  showed  the 
children  and  their  parents  together.  Jacques  held  the 
two  little  ones  on  his  knees,  and  Sandrine,  standing 
behind  them,  was  leaning  over  to  put  her  arms  round 
them. 

The  girl,  like  her  mother,  had  curly  hair  and  a  well- 
cut  face,  while  the  boy,  like  his  father,  had  straight 
hair  and  a  face  whose  outline  seemed  rubbbed  out. 

Bergeounette  used  to  come  to  see  me  at  Sandrine's. 
She  brought  an  extraordinary  animation  into  the  little 
room,  which  she  filled  with  disorder  and  noise.  It  was 
as  if  she  had  sat  on  all  the  furniture  at  the  same  time, 
and  after  her  departure,  I  was  always  obliged  to  sweep 
up.  This  made  Sandrine  laugh ;  she  said  that  Bergeou- 
nette was  like  a  good  dog  badly  brought  up. 

Then  Jacques  would  arrive  for  a  few  moments.  He 
became  confused  when  he  saw  me,  and  he  remained 
standing  like  a  stranger.  Sandrine  forced  him  to  sit 
on  the  bottom  of  the  bed,  and  each  moment  she  looked 
up  at  him  as  if  she  feared  that  he  might  have  disappeared 
suddenly. 

The  orders  returned  with  the  first  days  of  March, 
and  Mme.  Dalignac  recalled  Bouledogue  and  Duretour. 

Bergeounette,  who  had  not  worried  about  anything 
during  the  slackness,  made  an  exaggerated  show  of  pleas- 
ure at  being  occupied  once  more.  Her  low  laugh,  which 
seemed  broken,  was  heard  every  moment,  and  we  got  no 
reply  from  her  when  we  asked  her  the  reason. 

When  Bergeounette  was  standing,  her  whole  body 


48  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

moved  with  ease,  but  when  she  remained  quiet  on  her 
stool,  she  made  you  think  of  something  difficult  to  manip- 
ulate. Her  square  shoulders  seemed  as  hard  as  granite, 
and  when  passing  by  her  you  were  careful  of  her  elbows. 
But,  whether  she  was  moving  about  or  at  rest,  her  fine, 
smooth  hair  remained  tight  against  her  head,  while  her 
face  seemed  to  veer  with  all  the  winds. 

One  afternoon,  when  returning  to  work,  I  saw  her  go 
down  the  avenue  at  an  extraordinary  gallop.  She  ad- 
vanced by  enormous  bounds,  and  knocked  into  every- 
body, trying  to  escape  from  her  husband,  who  was  fol- 
lowing closely  after.  And  suddenly  she  disappeared 
within  the  entrance,  and  pushed  the  door  to  behind 
her. 

The  man  tried  to  push  in  the  door ;  then  he  gave  it  a 
heavy  kick,  and  after  having  looked  upwards,  as  if  he 
hoped  to  see  his  wife  at  a  window,  he  turned  round 
and  made  off. 

I  found  Bergeounette  upstairs.  She  was  trembling 
and  in  a  sweat,  and  between  her  gasps  for  breath,  she 
said  with  an  air  full  of  fear,  "  If  he  had  caught  me,  he 
would  have  killed  me." 

When  she  was  calmer,  the  patron  asked  her  in  his 
sing-song  accent,  "  Were  you  as  white  as  a  little  lamb 
and  were  you  saying  pretty  things  to  him  when  he  be- 
came angry  ?  " 

She  started  to  laugh,  and  throwing  her  arms  about  in 
a  disjointed  way,  she  confessed  that  since  the  beginning 
of  the  slack  season  she  had  stolen  each  week  a  gold  coin 
from  her  husband's  hiding-place,  and  that  a  little  while 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP          49 

ago,  during  a  terrible  quarrel,  she  had  boasted  about  it 
out  of  bravado. 

"  How  will  you  be  able  to  go  home  this  evening  ? " 
asked  Mme.  Dalignac. 

Bergeounette  reassured  her  with  a  movement  of  the 
hand. 

"  I'll  go  home  late,"  she  said.  She  laughed  again 
very  low,  and  as  if  speaking  to  herself  she  added,  "  He's 
never  very  bad  when  he's  in  bed." 

On  the  following  day,  she  returned,  looking  as  usual, 
and  nobody  spoke  to  her  of  what  had  happened  the 
day  before. 

Since  her  return  to  needlework,  Bouledogue  had  never 
stopped  growling  about  her  fingers,  which  had  lost  their 
suppleness  and  fineness  of  touch. 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  to  hold  a  needle  with  stiff, 
hard  fingers  like  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

And  she  showed  us  her  hands,  which  were  covered 
with  callosities  and  broken  blisters.  Her  specialty  was 
the  little  folds  and  gathers  in  light  tissues,  and  her  skill 
was  so  great  that  none  of  us  could  fill  her  place. 

When,  after  long  hours  of  work,  a  blouse  of  silk  mus- 
lin left  her  hands  frilled  and  finished,  you  would  have 
said  that  it  had  been  made  by  magic,  so  unruffled  and 
fresh  it  was. 

The  patron  scarcely  dared  to  touch  it.  He  lifted  it 
up  to  the  light  with  great  precaution,  and  said  very 
pleased,  "  I  do  believe  that  it  grew  all  by  itself  in  the 
sun." 


50          MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Therefore,  when  Bouledogue  now  saw  the  fabrics 
stick  to  her  fingers  and  fray  out,  she  hurst  into  violent 
anger,  which  always  ended  by  making  her  weep. 

Mme.  Palignac  tried  to  get  her  to  take  patience.  But 
Bouledogue  was  incapable  of  patience.  She  swore  like 
a  man  and  cursed  the  whole  world.  Moreover,  she 
could  not  say  enough  about  the  women  in  the  factory 
who  had  mocked  at  her  delicate  hands  when  they  touched 
the  tins  that  flayed  her  palms  and  broke  her  nails. 

Listening  to  her,  we  conceived  a  great  fear  of  the 
approaching  slack  season,  and  each  of  us  expressed  aloud 
her  hope  of  avoiding  the  factory. 

Bergeounette  alone  laughed  at  it  all,  as  she  laughed 
at  everything  else.  She  even  succeeded  in  soothing 
Bouledogue,  by  cleverly  directing  her  attention  to  the 
evening  dances  given  here  and  there  in  the  Plaisance 
quarter  by  small  societies  of  workers.  Bouledogue 
loved  dancing  more  than  anything.  Her  voice  changed 
completely  as  she  inquired  the  exact  date  and  place 
where  the  ball  was  to  be  held. 

Her  love  of  dancing  forced  her  to  tell  all  sorts  of  lies 
to  her  grandmother,  to  whom  she  dared  not  confess  it. 
Happily,  she  had  a  cousin  of  her  own  age  who  shared 
her  taste.  By  a  mutual  prearrangement  they  were 
able  to  deceive  the  grandmother,  and  to  set  themselves 
free. 

During  the  summer,  they  went  as  far  as  Robinson, 
but  it  was  a  long  way,  and  the  train  which  was  to  bring 
them  back  left  them  only  one  hour's  respite.  There- 
fore they  did  not  lose  a  minute,  They  ran  like  a  flash 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  51 

from  the  station  to  the  ball-room.  And  there,  without 
worrying  about  the  youngsters  who  were  looking  for 
partners,  they  clasped  each  other  and  danced  with  the 
ever-present  anxiety  of  perhaps  missing  the  train  back. 

In  the  winter  they  went  to  the  Bal  Bullier,  but,  al- 
though they  no  longer  had  the  trouble  of  the  journey, 
they  feared  to  be  recognized  and  accused.  Bouledogue's 
fear  of  this  was  so  intense  that  sometimes  she  crossed 
her  two  hands  over  her  head  and  said,  "  If  Grandmother 
were  to  find  out  one  of  these  days  that  I  go  to  that  ball, 
she  would  die  of  shame." 

That  did  not  prevent  her,  on  the  following  Sunday, 
from  pretending  that  she  was  going  for  a  walk  in  the 
Luxembourg  Gardens,  which  she  never  entered.  It  hap- 
pened that  the  grandmother  also  wanted  to  go  for  a  walk 
in  the  gardens,  but,  as  she  soon  grew  tired,  the  girls 
seated  her  on  a  chair,  and  went  off  rapidly  behind  her 
back. 

On  such  a  day,  there  was  no  question  of  staying 
long  at  the  ball.  The  cousin  would  have  remained 
quite  readily,  but  Bouledogue  pitilessly  brought  her 
back  to  her  grandmother.  And  in  the  same  tone  in 
which  she  used  to  say  to  us,  "  One  day's  work's  enough," 
she  said  to  her  cousin,  "  One  dance  is  enough  to  satisfy 
the  desire." 

Sandrine  had  come  back  to  her  place  at  the  same 
time  as  we.  Her  chest  now  gave  out  only  a  slight  rum- 
bling, and  when  the  patron  shouted  out  to  her  from  the 
end  of  the  workshop,  "  How  goes  it,  Sandrine  ?  "  she 


52          MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

replied  immediately,  "  Oh !     I'm  going  on  all  right." 

She  looked  at  us  and  smiled,  and  her  black  eyes 
were  as  soft  as  new  velvet.  But  her  hair  was  no  longer 
as  brilliant  and  her  curls  seemed  less  elastic;  yet  she 
never  complained. 

Once  only  did  she  speak  thus  of  the  fatigue  of  her 
nights.  "  It's  very  funny.  .  .  .  Since  I've  had  this 
cold,  I  can't  lie  down  in  bed  any  longer,  and  I  have 
to  be  half  sitting  in  order  to  be  able  to  sleep  a  little." 

One  morning,  I  caught  her  on  the  staircase  when 
she  thought  she  was  alone.  She  was  climbing  the  stairs 
slowly,  and  keeping  her  bust  rigid  and  her  mouth  shut. 
But  the  air  which  she  expelled  from  her  nose  made  a 
loud  noise,  like  a  slap. 

Mme.  Dalignac  sent  her  to  her  doctor,  who  advised  a 
long  rest  and  good  food.  Sandrine  laughed  with  all 
her  heart  when  she  reported  the  doctor's  words. 

"  Rest,"  she  said.  "  Where  the  deuce  does  he  think 
I'm  going  to  get  that  ?  I  don't  know  any  shop  where 
they  sell  it." 

Mme.  Double,  who  was  there,  flung  at  her  a  glance 
full  of  ill-will.  She  spoke  at  length  of  colds  which 
turned  into  contagious  diseases,  and  said  that  she  would 
not  have  a  tuberculous  girl  in  her  workshop. 

I  looked  up  at  Sandrine.  She  retained  her  calm  and 
rather  childish  air,  and,  when  Mjne.  Double  had  gone, 
she  said,  laughing,  "  Her  girls  would  do  well  not  to  catch 
colds." 

The  month  of  April  brought  back  the  urgent  work. 


MARIE  CLAIKE'S  WOBKSHOP  53 

Bouledogue's  hands  bad  recovered  their  old  suppleness, 
and  her  long  well-turned  fingers  skillfully  manipulated 
the  finest  tissues.  But  her  nervous  irritability  returned 
with  the  untidiness  of  the  work-table,  and  her  voice 
growled  hoarsely  when  we  were  searching  for  something 
that  had  gone  astray. 

Bergeounette  remained  indifferent  to  the  annoyances 
of  the  work.  She  continued  to  watch  for  the  passing 
of  the  one-armed  man.  And  the  moment  one  of  us 
showed  too  much  impatience,  she  sang  her  old  song, 
which  had  a  verse  for  all  occasions: 

"  Dans  le  bon  vieux   temps, 
Les  pates  et  les  brioches, 

Dans  le  bon  vieux  temps, 
Croissaient   au  milieu   des   champs." 1 

As  we  approached  the  Easter  holidays,  the  day's 
work  became  as  hard  as  before  All  Saints'  Day.  The 
patrons  machine  never  stopped,  and  the  rumbling  of 
mine  hardly  made  less  noise.  And  each  time  that 
Duretour  set  out  with  a  finished  dress  the  patron  said, 
clapping  his  hands,  "  Courage,  ladies !  Easter  will 
bring  us  two  days'  holiday  to  rest  in." 

The  day  before  Easter,  as  he  was  repeating  this, 
Bergeounette  replied,  "  Sandrine  will  have  time  enough 
to  run  after  her  breath  on  those  two  days." 

Everybody  looked  at  Sandrine.  She  had  her  mouth 
open,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  mist  about  her  face. 

i "  In  the  good  old  times,  pies  and  cakes,  in  the  good  old  times, 
grew  in  the  fields." 


54 

In  the  evening,  after  the  day's  work  had  been  done, 
she  allowed  herself  the  time  to  smile. 

"  It's  true,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  running  after  my 
breath  to-day." 

Her  voice  was  trembling  and  indistinct,  and  you 
would  have  said  that  her  eyes  were  letting  all  their  light 
slip  away  from  them. 

And  for  the  first  time  for  many  days  she  went  up 
the  avenue  with  me  without  her  parcel  of  work  for  the 
night 


VI 

ON  the  following  Tuesday,  we  were  all  late  in  be- 
ginning the  new  week.  Duretour  herself  had  lost  her 
spirits,  and  Bouledogue  took  an  endless  time  to  unfold 
her  apron.  The  patron  made  a  pretense  of  scolding  us. 

"  Easter  should  be  a  three  days'  holiday  for  some 
of  you,"  he  said. 

I  perceived  immediately  that  Sandrine  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  I  was  about  to  remark  on  it  to  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac,  but  just  at  that  moment  she  said,  opening  a  letter 
on  which  the  address  was  all  askew — 

"  This  is  certainly  from  a  customer  who  is  annoyed." 

Every  one  remained  standing,  expecting  the  vexation 
of  a  dress  to  be  altered.  But,  instead  of  explaining  to 
us  what  it  was  all  about,  as  she  usually  did  on  these 
occasions,  Mme.  Dalignac  held  the  paper  away  from  her 
and  then  brought  it  up  close  again.  Then  her  eyes  be- 
came blurred  before  the  two  lines  which  were  at  the 
top  of  the  page,  and  finally  she  read  aloud: 

"  My  Sandrine  is  dead. 

"  JACQUES." 

In  the  silence  which  followed,  our  heads  turned  to- 
wards Sandrine's  place,  and  nobody  seemed  to  under- 
stand the  sense  of  the  letter. 

55 


56  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Like  the  others  I  looked  at  the  empty  place,  but  at 
the  same  time  I  saw  once  more  the  sad  eyes  and  the 
tired  smile  of  Sandrine  on  the  Saturday  before,  and  I 
understood  that,  on  that  evening,  she  was  at  the  end 
of  her  life. 

Mine.  Dalignac  must  have  remembered  too;  for  her 
eyes,  which  had  widened,  suddenly  narrowed,  and  her 
hands  began  to  tremble. 

A  tumult  of  voices  arose,  saying  the  same  words. 
It  was  like  a  jostling  of  questions  to  which  no  reply 
was  given.  And  suddenly  Bouledogue  gave  vent  to  a 
dull  growl ;  then  she  seized  Sandrine's  stool,  and  struck 
it  on  the  floor  with  so  much  violence  that  the  feet  were 
split  apart  and  it  fell  to  pieces. 

Nobody  knew  who  it  was  that  the  anger  on  all  our 
faces  was  directed  against.  Bergeounette  seemed  ready 
to  throw  herself  at  some  one,  and  little  Duretour  re- 
peated, as  a  kind  of  reproach  to  Sandrine,  "  But  seeing 
that  she'd  got  her  Jacques  back  again  — 

Mme.  Dalignac  soon  stopped  trembling.  Her  face, 
ordinarily  so  gentle,  showed  revolt,  as  at  the  announce- 
ment of  an  unbearable  injustice.  And  while  the  patron 
took  up  the  letter  to  read  it  in  his  turn,  she  rapidly 
put  on  her  hat,  and  beckoned  to  me  to  accompany  her. 

Everything  was  tidy  in  Sandrine's  room.  You  smelt 
an  odor  of  washed  floors,  and  the  little  white  bed  seemed 
to  light  the  room  as  much  as  the  April  sun. 

Jacques  was  half  prostrate  on  the  floor.  He  got  up 
painfully  while  Mme.  Dalignac  asked  him  quickly, 
"  How  did  it  happen  ?  Where  is  Sandrine  ?  " 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP          57 

"  She  is  there,"  he  replied,  turning  towards  the  bed. 

You  could  see  no  swelling  of  the  covers,  not  even  at 
the  place  where  the  feet  should  be ;  but  Mme.  Dalignac 
had  dropped  to  her  knees,  and  was  passing  her  hand 
along  the  whole  length  of  the  bed,  as  if  to  make  sure 
that  Sandrine  was  really  there.  Then  she  uncovered 
her  face,  and  gave  her  a  long  look. 

"  She  died  yesterday,"  Jacques  said. 

His  mouth  trembled,  and  his  eyelids  closed.  He 
tried  to  fortify  his  voice  to  add,  "  When  I  arrived  she 
had  already  vomited  all  her  blood." 

A  neighbor  entered  noiselessly.  She  was  sewing  at 
a  child's  apron. 

"  She  did  not  take  long  in  dying,"  she  said.  And 
in  the  same  low,  calm  voice,  she  explained :  "  I  heard 
her  coughing  all  night  through  the  wall.  In  the  morn- 
ing, I  heard  her  walking  up  and  down,  and  suddenly 
she  cried  l  Jacques,  Jacques.'  Her  voice  sounded  like 
some  one  calling  for  help.  I  rushed  in  and  I  found 
her  vomiting  on  the  floor.  She  was  vomiting  red,  and 
it  would  not  stop.  Then  I  became  frightened  and  I 
wanted  to  call  for  help  too.  Sandrine  prevented  me, 
and  begged  me  to  go  for  M.  Jacques." 

And  as  the  neighbor  had  finished  sewing  her  piece, 
she  pricked  the  needle  into  her  blouse,  and  went  off  on 
tiptoe. 

Jacques  took  up  again  his  position  on  the  floor,  and 
his  bowed  head  now  touched  Sandrine's. 

On  my  return  to  the  workshop,  my  great  desire  to 
find  Sandrine  there  once  more  made  me  look  at  her 


58          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

place.  But  only  a  stool  lying  on  its  side  and  showing 
its  broken  bars  was  there.  Mme.  Dalignac  tried  to  tell 
the  others  what  she  knew;  but  her  throat  was  stopped 
up,  and  I  was  obliged  to  speak  for  her. 

I  felt  strangled  too,  and  it  was  not  easy  for  me  to 
tell  everything  at  once.  And  when  the  girls  knew  the 
details  which  the  neighbor  had  given,  Bouledogue  said 
harshly  to  the  patron,  "  Easter  was  no  holiday  for 
her." 

The  patron  did  not  appear  to  have  heard.  He  was 
clutching  his  machine  with  both  his  hands,  and  a  thin 
stream  of  saliva  ran  down  from  his  mouth. 

On  a  sign  from  Mme.  Dalignac,  I  picked  up  the 
broken  stool  to  carry  it  into  the  kitchen,  and  when  I 
returned,  little  Duretour  was  saying  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  The  love  of  Sandrine  is  also  dead." 

And  then  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  heard  except 
the  repeated  cry  of  a  flower-girl  who  was  going  down 
the  avenue  and  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  which  seemed 
to  beat  more  quickly  and  loudly. 

In  the  evening,  I  returned  to  Sandrine's  room  with 
Mime.  Dalignac.  Jacques  was  still  half  prostrate  on 
the  floor.  He  had  merely  brought  up  his  knees,  which 
he  held  with  his  clasped  fingers. 

The  neighbor  said  to  us  very  low,  "  He  has  been 
sleeping  like  that  since  the  morning." 

Jacques  heard  her.  He  got  up  and  replied,  "  I  wasn't 
sleeping,  I  was  with  Sandrine." 

He  was  quite  dazed,  and  with  the  movement  he  made 
to  hold  himself  up  against  the  wall,  he  displaced  a 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  59 

photograph  of  the  children,  which  remained  hanging 
askew. 

The  following  day,  at  the  hour  for  the  funeral,  a  man 
entered  Sandrine's  room  holding  before  him  a  long  box 
made  of  rough  planks.  He  looked  round  for  a  place  in 
the  room,  and  I  had  to  go  out  with  Mme.  Dalignac,  to 
leave  free  the  narrow  space  in  the  middle.  But  in  spite 
of  that,  when  the  man  set  down  the  coffin  between  the 
bed  and  the  table,  he  struck  against  the  feet  of  Jacques, 
who,  however,  had  retreated  to  the  window.  ' 

Another  man  set  down  the  coffin-lid  which  he  held  in 
his  arms,  and  they  both  raised  the  dead  woman  to  place 
her  in  the  long  box.  Sandrine  was  wrapped  up  in  a 
torn  sheet,  and  her  hands,  which  were  crossed  on  her 
breast,  passed  through  a  hole. 

And  while  one  of  the  men  was  trying  to  keep  her 
head  upright,  the  handkerchief  which  held  her  curls 
slipped  away,  and  made  a  sort  of  bandage  over  her  fore- 
head. 

Jacques  looked  on  without  a  word ;  but  when  he  saw 
the  lid  being  placed  in  position,  he  seemed  to  lose  his 
head.  He  pushed  the  men  away,  and  knelt  down  by 
Sandrine's  side.  He  raised  the  bandage,  which  made 
her  look  like  a  saint  draped  in  white,  and  he  implored, 
"  Have  pity  on  me,  Sandrine.  Don't  go  away." 

The  anguish  of  his  heart  was  so  real  that  the  men 
did  not  dare  to  lead  him  away.  The  neighbor  and 
Mme.  Dalignac  finally  took  him  away  while  he  was 
still  saying  beseechingly,  "  Have  pity  on  me,  my  San- 
drine."' 


60 

The  little  photograph  still  stood  askew,  and  the  chil- 
dren looked  as  though  they  were  leaning  forward  to 
see  what  was  being  done  to  their  mother. 

I  went  up  to  it  to  put  it  straight,  but  one  of  the  men 
asked  me,  "  Are  those  two  lovely  little  children  hers  ?  " 

I  nodded  Yes. 

Then  he  took  the  frame  and  slipped  it  into  Sandrine's 
hands  which  the  torn  sheet  let  through.  Then  he  looked 
at  the  narrow  passage  outside  the  door,  and  said,  "  We 
shall  have  to  take  her  out  upright." 

He  went  on  in  a  pitiful  voice.  "  It  is  not  because  she 
is  heavy,  but  these  wretched  boxes  are  not  solid,  and  in 
carting  them  from  one  story  to  another,  we're  always 
afraid  of  accidents." 

And  as  the  time  had  come  to  carry  down  the  dead 
woman,  the  man  drew  a  strong  rope  from  his  pocket, 
and  firmly  encircled  the  middle  of  the  wretched  box 
with  it. 

The  hearse  was  waiting  below.  It  was  a  carriage 
without  any  ornament,  and  I  recognized  it  as  one  of 
those  which  Duretour  called  grasshoppers.  The  patron 
himself  hooked  on  the  white  crown  which  he  had  just 
brought  with  him.  Bergeounette  placed  along  the  coffin 
the  little  bouquets  of  violets  which  each  of  us  offered 
to  Sandrine,  and  immediately  the  grasshopper  started. 

It  went  along  the  Boulevard  Raspail  so  quickly  that 
we  had  much  difficulty  in  following  it,  and  Jacques,  who 
was  walking  first  behind  it,  rested  his  hand  on  it,  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  prevent  it  from  bumping  so  much. 

As  we  passed,  women  got  up  from  the  benches  on 


MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  61 

which  they  were  seated.  Some  of  them  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  and  kept  their  hands  clasped.  Two  chil- 
dren stopped  stirring  up  the  sand  with  their  wooden 
spades,  and  tapped  noisily  on  their  little  pails,  singing 
out  to  the  tune  of  a  church  bell,  "  A  funeral,  a  funeral." 

The  day  was  very  sunny.  Every  sound  went  up  into 
the  mild  air  clearly  and  precisely,  and  all  along  the 
way  were  chestnut  trees  in  bloom. 

Entering  the  cemetery,  the  grasshopper  went  still 
more  quickly.  Its  wheels  made  a  harsh  noise  on  the 
thick  gravel,  and  the  crown  hooked  on  behind  swung 
this  way  and  that.  The  cemetery  was  also  all  in  bloom, 
and  the  tombs  seemed  whiter  in  the  sun. 

Bergeounette,  who  read  out  the  names  on  the  sign- 
posts, named  the  crosspaths  that  we  passed,  "  Path  of 
the  Dead  .  .  .  Cypress  Path  .  .  .  Path  of  the  Tombs." 

And  each  time  the  words  left  her  mouth  as  though 
she  were  rejecting  them  with  loathing.  But  when  the 
hearse  turned  in  between  two  rows  of  trees  which  stood 
up  straight  and  slender  like  smooth  columns,  she  said 
aloud  with  an  air  of  triumph,  "  White  Maple  Path." 

The  grasshopper  stopped  near  a  long  trench,  where 
coffins  were  lying  side  by  side  in  a  row,  and  our  group 
closed  up  to  say  Good-by  to  Sandrine. 

Bouledogue  wore  the  face  of  her  bad-tempered  days. 
Her  lips  curled  up  in  the  middle  only,  and  showed  but 
two  of  her  teeth.  And  as  I  bent  astonished  over  the  big 
trench  she  said  to  me,  "  That's  the  common  grave." 

Her  voice  echoed  with  such  wide  and  deep  vibrations 
that  it  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  earth  to  go  and  strike 


62          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

against  the  vaults  all  around  and  the  beflowered  graves. 

The  undertaker's  men  hurried  on  with  their  work, 
for  another  funeral  was  coming  towards  the  common 
grave.  They  took  hold  of  Sandrine  briskly,  and  de- 
posited her  near  the  coffins  of  two  little  children  which 
had  been  placed  end  to  end  so  as  not  to  waste  room. 
And  immediately  the  grasshopper  made  off  along  the 
path,  in  which  it  was  preceded  by  two  of  its  kind. 

Jacques  was  not  weeping.  He  followed  the  patron 
and  his  wife  with  docility.  But,  before  leaving  the 
cemetery,  he  turned  towards  the  white  maples,  and  his 
lips  moved  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  them. 

I,  too,  turned  towards  the  white  maples.  I  wanted 
to  see  once  more  their  frail  foliage,  more  delicate  than 
lace,  which  seemed  to  be  about  to  fly  away  in  the  wind. 
Then  I  lowered  my  eyes  to  look  around  on  the  immense 
square  of  tombs  which  shone  in  the  sun,  and  when  I 
went  back  to  Bergeounette  she  said,  breathing  deeply, 
"  The  cemetery  is  as  lovely  as  a  paradise  to-day." 


VII 

THE  Easter  holidays  and  the  funeral  had  made  us 
very  backward  with  the  work.  The  patron  decided  to 
take  on  a  new  girl  to  replace  Sandrine,  and  he  wrote 
out  a  notice  which  Bergeounette  went  and  pasted  up  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Gaite.  He  took  the  same  care  with  his 
notices  as  with  his  embroidery.  He  wrote  them  in  a 
round,  legible  hand,  and  you  could  easily  read  from 
afar  — 

"  WANTED 
A  very  good  sempstress. 

Very  Urgent." 

Bouledogue  growled,  "  Good  needlewomen  are  not 
running  about  the  streets  at  the  present  moment." 

One  came  who  could  not  do  much,  but  the  patron 
kept  her  for  lack  of  better.  She  was  called  Roberte. 
She  was  neither  ugly  nor  ill-made ;  but  her  conceited  air 
made  her  very  unpleasant  to  look  at. 

An  under-current  of  mockery  seemed  to  enter  the 
workshop  at  the  same  time  as  she  did.  Little  Duretour 
made  grimaces  at  her  behind  her  back.  Bouledogue 
showed  her  her  teeth,  and  Bergeounette  said  quietly, 
"  She  is  stupid  enough  to  make  a  donkey  weep." 

The  noise  of  the  machine  often  prevented  me  from 
hearing  what  the  others  said,  but  when  Roberte  spoke, 

63 


64          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

the  expression  on  her  face  always  made  me  want  to 
laugh. 

She  struck  an  attitude  for  the  slightest  word  or  ges- 
ture, and  she  sat  down  or  got  up  with  such  affectation 
that  the  patron  sometimes  asked,  quite  bewildered, 
"  Whatever  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

At  the  end  of  the  first  week,  when  she  had  gone  out 
for  a  moment,  Mme.  Dalignac  said  in  her  turn,  "  Every 
time  I  look  in  her  direction,  it  gives  me  an  unpleasant 
surprise  to  find  her  wretched  features  instead  of  San- 
drine's  lovely  face." 

"  Suppose  you  put  her  in  my  place,"  said  little  Dure- 
tour.  And  she  wriggled,  pursing  up  her  pretty  mouth 
to  resemble  Roberte. 

When  the  laughter  had  died  down,  everybody  agreed 
with  her,  and  Roberte  had  to  go  to  the  end  of  the  table, 
while  Duretour  suddenly  became  very  grave  as  she  went 
to  sit  in  Sandrine's  place. 

Our  customers  were  now  demanding  their  dresses 
for  the  races.  And  as  Mme.  Dalignac  was  beginning 
once  more  to  work  late,  I  got  into  the  habit  of  coming  in 
to  work  with  her  every  evening. 

It  happened  once  that  a  dress  to  be  finished  kept  us 
until  daylight,  and  the  others  found  us  in  the  morning 
with  haggard  faces  and  tired  limbs. 

Bouledogue,  who  was  always  the  first  to  arrive,  threw 
us  a  furious  look.  She  swept  the  bits  of  materials 
from  the  table,  repeating  what  she  had  already  said 
so  many  times,  "  If  nobody  would  work  late,  customers 
would  be  obliged  to  get  along  with  what  they'd  got." 


MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  65 

At  bottom  I  agreed  with  her ;  but  I  did  not  see  how 
we  could  do  otherwise,  and  I  was  annoyed  with  her 
for  adding  her  scolding  to  our  fatigue. 

Mme.  Dalignac  did  not  reply  either.  I  saw  her  eye- 
lids blink  a  moment;  and  the  minute  afterwards  she 
was  distributing  the  work,  giving  instructions  in  her 
gentle,  steady  voice. 

On  days  like  this,  Bouledogue  growled  without 
stopping.  When  she  had  finished  about  one  thing  she 
began  on  another.  The  new  house  opposite  gave  her  a 
thousand  opportunities  for  her  anger.  She  could  not 
endure  its  high  windows  and  its  broad  stone  balconies. 
And  her  voice  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  workshop  when 
she  said,  "  It's  the  houses  of  the  poor  that  ought  to  have 
balconies.  The  old  people  and  the  children  would  be 
able  to  sit  in  the  sun  and  fresh  air." 

Her  discontent  grew  when  she  thought  of  her  grand- 
mother, who  was  too  feeble  to  go  downstairs,  and  was 
obliged  to  take  the  air  at  the  window  of  their  room, 
which  opened  on  a  narrow  yard  full  of  bad  odors.  And 
each  time  that  a  noise  from  the  fine  house  attracted  her 
attention  she  shouted  passionately :  "  You  see,  nobody 
will  ever  come  out  on  to  those  lovely  balconies." 

Since  Sandrine  had  died,  the  patron  had  been  unable 
either  to  give  an  order  or  to  reprimand.  He  remained 
for  hours  as  if  he  were  brooding  on  a  fixed  idea.  And 
one  day,  although  nobody  had  said  anything  about  San- 
drine, he  exclaimed  in  the  middle  of  a  silence,  "  The 
doctor  hadn't  foreseen  the  hemorrhage." 


66  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

"  Nor  did  we,"  replied  his  wife,  with  an  air  of  regret. 

And  as  the  patron  sank  once  more  into  his  depres- 
sion, Mme.  Dalignac  begged  Bergeounette  to  sing  to 
restore  a  little  gayety.  But  Bergeounette  herself  re- 
gretted Sandrine  so  much  that  no  song  came  to  her  mem- 
ory. 

She  tried  two  or  three  times  to  begin  one,  but  there 
was  always  some  one  who  said  to  her,  "  Oh  no,  not  that 
one,  it's  too  sad." 

And  silence  fell  on  the  room  again. 

Tet,  when  Roberte  started  to  sing,  there  were  mo- 
ments of  noisy  gayety.  Her  voice  would  not  have  been 
unpleasant  if  she  had  sung  in  a  simple  way,  but  she 
made  it  ugly  by  trying  to  be  affected.  Moreover,  she 
deformed  her  words  without  troubling  about  their  real 
sense,  and  in  this  way  she  coupled  together  such  in- 
congruous phrases  that  we  could  not  help  bursting  out 
into  laughter. 

On  the  day  when  she  sang  a  song  which  everybody 
knew  — 

"  Selon   moi,   vois-tu,   c'est   1'indifference 
Qui  blesse  le  cceur  et  le  fait  souffrir ; "  x 

she  came  out  in  all  serenity  with  — 

"  Seule  dans  ma  voiture,  c'est  la  difference 
Qui  blesse  le  coeur  et  le  fait  s'ouvrir."  2 

This   sent  Duretour  into  such  crazy  laughter   that 

i "  In  my  opinion,  you  see,  it  is  indifference  that  wounds  the 
heart  and  makes  it  suffer." 

2  "  Alone  in  my  carriage,  it  is  the  difference  that  wounds  the 
heart  and  makes  it  open." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  67 

she  slipped  from  her  stool  under  the  table.  And  while 
Bergeounette  was  choking  against  the  window,  Boule- 
dogiie  leaning  backwards  laughed  until  she  cried. 

The  patron  stopped  Roberte,  who  was  going  on  with 
her  song. 

"  I  say,"  he  said.  "  Eh  .  .  .  You  can  sing  when 
we  are  less  busy." 

Shortly  afterwards,  Bergeounette  began  to  sing  a  song 
full  of  melancholy,  each  verse  of  which  finished  thus  — 

"  Que  les  beaux  jours  sont  courts. 
Que  les  beaux  jours  sont  courts."  l 

She  allowed  her  voice  to  drag,  as  if  she  wished  to 
lengthen  the  fine  days  indefinitely,  and  all  the  while 
her  hands  seemed  busier  with  her  work. 

The  patron,  who  had  been  complaining  of  fatigue, 
fainted  one  day  at  his  machine.  Yet  he  went  on 
with  his  work,  for  he  wanted  to  finish  Mme.  Moulin's 
mantle. 

Mme.  Moulin  was  a  very  good  customer,  but  she  al- 
ways changed  her  mind  when  her  clothes  were  half -made. 
At  the  first  fitting  she  manifested  a  childish  joy. 
Everything  pleased  her,  but  on  the  next  day  she  would 
ask  to  see  the  dress.  She  turned  it  over  and  over,  say- 
ing in  a  sad  voice,  "  I  think  it  is  very  good.  It  will 
be  very  pretty." 

Then  still  in  the  same  sad  voice  she  spoke  of  her 
friends  who  had  dresses  like  this  and  like  that,  and 
who  advised  her  to  have  hers  made  similarly. 

i "  How  short  the  fine  days  are." 


68  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

She  sighed  in  such  an  unhappy  way,  that  Mme. 
Dalignac  took  pity  on  her,  and  said  to  us  after  her 
departure,  "  Put  her  dress  on  one  side.  She  doesn't 
like  it." 

And  when  Mme.  Moulin  returned  she  laughed  heartily 
on  learning  that  the  alterations  she  wanted  could  be 
made. 

Three  times  already  we  had  altered  the  trimming 
of  her  mantle.  The  evening  before,  she  had  gone 
through  all  the  patron's  drawings,  and  from  them  she 
had  at  length  combined  a  new  trimming.  The  patron 
had  made  a  wry  face  at  the  jumble  she  demanded. 

"  I  don't  think  that's  very  fetching,"  he  said. 

But  Mme.  Moulin,  who  was  convinced  of  the  contrary, 
had  gone  away  joyously. 

Therefore,  in  spite  of  his  extreme  fatigue,  the  patron 
hurried,  fearing  each  minute  to  see  her  come  back  with 
another  idea. 

From  time  to  time  he  stopped  for  a  moment 

"  I  can't  do  any  more,"  he  said.  He  tried  to  make 
himself  angry.  "  Devil  take  the  women  and  their  em- 
broideries !  " 

He  even  worked  late  for  a  good  hour,  but  when  he 
went  to  leave  his  machine  he  fell  back  on  to  his  stool, 
breathing  with  such  difficulty  that  he  made  me  think  of 
Sandrine. 

Alone  with  Mme.  Dalignac,  I  asked  her  why  she  did 
not  call  the  doctor  in. 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  ill  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up 
quickly. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  69 

"  Oh,  no !  "  And  seeing  that  she  did  not  look  away 
again  I  went  on  placidly.  "  The  doctors  have  medi- 
cines which  give  you  back  your  strength." 

She  brightened  up  quickly. 

"  It's  only  tiredness,"  she  said. 

She  informed  me  then  that  her  husband  had  been 
very  ill  during  the  first  year  of  their  marriage.  Several 
doctors  had  even  declared  that  his  lungs  were  so  seriously 
affected  that  he  could  not  live  more  than  a  year. 

'  Yet/'  she  went  on,  "  ten  years  have  come  and  gone 
since  then." 

And  as  if  that  took  away  from  her  all  care  for  the 
future  she  laughed  a  little. 

Mme.  Moulin  arrived  just  at  the  moment  when  the 
patron  had  finished  her  mantle..  And  before  Duretour 
had  shut  the  door  behind  her,  she  was  heard  saying, 
"  It  isn't  embroidered  yet,  is  it  ?  " 

Her  entry  into  the  workshop  was  as  swift  as  a  rush 
of  wind.  The  patron  showed  her  the  garment  with  a 
touch  of  mischief.  She  clapped  her  hands  together  with 
a  heartbroken  air. 

"  Oh !  how  unfortunate !  "  she  said.  "  And  I'd  just 
thought  of  another  trimming."  She  pulled  at  a  piece 
of  the  braiding,  and  her  timid  voice  took  courage  to 
ask,  "  Can't  it  be  unmade  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  madam  !  " 

And  the  patron's  yellow  face  became  quite  red.  This 
time,  Mme.  Moulin  went  away  disconsolate. 

The  patron  was   now   suffering  with   his   stomach. 


TO  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Every  day  he  vomited  up  his  meals,  and  Bergeounette, 
who  made  fun  of  everything,  said: 

"  He's  upset  his  soup-tureen  again." 

I  was  astonished  that  the  doctor  did  not  come,  and  I 
spoke  about  it  again  to  Mine.  Dalignac. 

"  I'm  thinking  of  it,"  she  said  to  me,  "  but  if  I  bring 
him  in,  my  husband  will  believe  that  he's  very  ill."  She 
went  on  in  a  voice  full  of  eagerness,  "  If  we  only  had 
the  luck  not  to  have  to  make  any  more  embroidered 
garments." 

That  luck  was  not  ours;  on  the  contrary,  our  cus- 
tomers asked  expressly  for  embroidery,  a  lot  of  em- 
broidery. Every  costume  had  to  be  embroidered  and 
re-embroidered,  whether  it  was  of  wool,  cloth,  or  silk. 
You  would  have  thought  that  embroidery  was  the  one 
thing  worthy  to  deck  and  adorn  women,  and  that  it 
would  not  have  been  possible  to  live  without  it. 

"  They're  all  mad,"  said  the  patron. 

He  fainted  once  again  at  his  machine,  and  while 
Bergeounette  held  him  up  to  prevent  him  from  rolling 
on  to  the  floor,  I  went  off  running  to  find  a  doctor. 

When  he  arrived,  the  patron  was  slowly  swallowing 
some  warm  brew.  He  felt  much  better,  and  he  pointed 
to  me,  laughing,  and  said,  "  It's  only  that  young  woman 
getting  frightened." 

The  doctor  laughed  with  him,  as  he  inquired  about 
his  case. 

The  doctor's  name  was  M.  Bon.  It  was  he  who  had 
seen  Sandrine.  He  asked  to  see  her  again,  and  when 
he  learned  that  she  was  dead  he  said,  annoyed,  "  She 


71 

could  have  got  well  with  rest  and  care.     Her  lungs  were 
hardly  touched." 

"  She  had  two  children  to  keep,"  replied  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac, as  if  she  wanted  to  excuse  Sandrine  for  being 
dead. 

M.  Bon's  eyes  rested  on  each  one  of  us,  and  then  he 
said  to  the  patron,  "  ISTow  that  I'm  here,  I  might  as  well 
see  whether  your  lungs  are  still  behaving  themselves." 

And  while  we  kept  silent,  he  flicked  the  patron's  back 
with  his  fingers,  and  then  stopped  to  listen.  He  had 
his  mouth  open,  but  when  he  placed  his  ear  against  the 
left  side,  he  caught  his  lip  sharply  with  his  teeth.  And 
without  moving  his  head  in  the  slightest,  he  raised  his 
eyes  and  looked  fixedly  at  Mme.  Dalignac. 

He  sat  down  once  more  opposite  the  patron  and  took 
hold  of  his  wrist.  After  a  short  interval,  he  got  up  and 
said  in  a  firm  voice,  "  There  ...  I  find  that  you  are 
very  weak  .  .  .  and  if  you  don't  take  rest  at  once  .  .  . 
I  can't  say  what  will  happen." 

The  patron  scoffed  at  the  idea. 

"  Te !  "  he  said.  "  I  shall  perhaps  do  what  Sandrine 
did?" 

M.  Bon  turned  away  his  head,  and  replied  gravely, 
"  Perhaps." 

He  wrote  out  a  prescription,  and  while  giving  ex- 
planations and  advice  to  Mme.  Dalignac  he  dragged  her 
out  on  to  the  staircase. 

When  she  returned,  the  patron  was  grumbling,  "  If 
it  weren't  for  their  infernal  embroideries,  I  might 
take  a  little  rest." 


72          MAKIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

"  We  have  only  to  put  an  embroiderer  in  your  place," 
said  Mme.  Dalignac. 

The  patron  started  up  and  shouted,  "  An  embroid- 
erer !  But  you  won't  be  able  to  find  one  at  the  present 
moment." 

"  Very  well,  then !     I'll  refuse  the  dresses." 

She  spoke  as  if  through  her  clenched  teeth,  and  no- 
body knew  her  voice.  And  while  Bergeounette  and 
Bouledogue  cried  out  in  astonishment,  the  patron  burst 
out  laughing  at  the  idea  that  his  wife  would  refuse  the 
dresses. 

All  the  same,  he  wrote  out  a  notice,  which  Bergeou- 
nette went  and  pasted  up  near  the  Montparnasse  Sta- 
tion — 

"  WANTED 

A  male  machine-embroiderer  for  careful  work. 

Very  Urgent." 

In  the  evening  Mme.  Dalignac  spoke  to  me  in  a  low 
voice.  "  The  left  lung  isn't  altogether  right,"  she  said : 
"  Baptiste  must  go  into  the  country,  but  the  most  urgent 
thing  is  that  he  should  stop  all  work." 

She  strained  at  her  shoulders,  as  she  did  when  she 
feared  trouble.  Her  eyes  were  a  little  wild  and  her 
face  seemed  withered.  She  pushed  back  her  hair  with 
her  hands,  as  if  it  were  too  heavy  on  her  temples,  and, 
shaking  her  head,  she  said  with  great  energy,  "  Now 
...  let  us  work." 

And  until  midnight,  you  could  hear  in  the  workshop 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  73 

nothing  but  the  rumbling  of  the  sewing-machine,  and 
the  light  click  of  needles  against  silk. 

The  following  day,  on  her  return  from  a  visit  to  a 
customer,  Mme.  Dalignac  was  frightened  to  find  her 
husband  at  his  embroidering. 

"  Get  out  of  that,  Baptiste,"  she  cried.  "  Get  out 
of  that." 

And  as  he  took  no  notice  of  her,  she  put  her  hand 
on  the  fly-wheel  of  the  machine.  The  patron  resisted. 

"  Oh,  come,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  finish.  I've  only  a 
few  more  minutes'  work  to  do." 

"  No !  No !  Get  out  of  it !  "  And  with  her  other 
hand  she  cast  off  the  driving-band. 

The  patron  fumed  as  he  pushed  back  his  stool. 

"  I  shan't  die  for  finishing  this  sleeve,"  he  said. 

"  Have  you  already  forgotten  what  M.  Bon  said  ?  " 
his  wife  went  on. 

"  No,"  said  the  patron  sulkily.  "  I  know  that  the 
same  thing  will  happen  to  me  as  happened  to  Sandrine." 

Mme.  Dalignac  looked  over  Bouledogue's  head  to 
seek  my  eyes.  In  the  evening,  she  said  in  a  lower  voice 
than  before,  "  Provided  we  can  get  hold  of  an  embroid- 
erer ?  "  And  the  sigh  that  followed  was  long  and  tremu- 
lous. 

An  embroiderer  came.  He  was  a  handsome,  solid- 
looking  man.  He  first  of  all  fixed  his  daily  wage,  then 
he  went  up  to  the  machine,  and  said  insolently,  "  But 
it's  an  old  model.  How  do  you  expect  me  to  do  careful 
work  with  that  ?  " 


74:          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

"  /  can  do  it,"  said  the  patron,  annoyed. 

The  handsome  man  looked  him  up  and  down. 

"  I  only  work  with  modern  machines,"  he  said. 

He  winked  at  us,  and  went  off  twirling  his  mustache. 

Another  came  who  wanted  work  very  badly.  He 
found  the  machine  heavy,  and,  to  make  it  lighter,  he 
poured  a  quantity  of  oil  into  all  the  holes. 

The  patron  began  to  fret.  "  You  will  spot  the  em- 
broideries," he  said. 

"  Everybody  makes  spots  on  them,"  the  workman 
replied.  And  he  demanded  benzine. 

At  the  end  of  the  day,  he  had  made  so  many  spots 
and  used  so  much  benzine  that  the  material  had  lost 
all  its  freshness. 

The  patron  sent  him  away,  with  a  howl  of  rage. 

"  It  makes  me  more  ill  to  see  that  than  to  work," 
he  said  to  us. 

Mme.  Dalignac  had  an  idea :  "  Suppose  we  take  a 
woman  ?  " 

And  Bergeounette  went  and  pasted  up  another  notice. 
Bouledogue  growled  again,  "  Embroideresses  who  know 
their  job  are  not  out  of  work  at  the  present  moment." 

The  one  who  came,  carefully  wiped  the  machine, 
tested  its  working  for  a  moment,  timidly  fixed  her  day's 
wages,  and  worked  to  perfection  until  evening. 

The  patron  made  happy  little  signals  to  us,  and  when 
the  embroideress  had  gone,  he  opened  all  his  fingers  fan- 
wise  and  said,  "  She's  a  jolly  good  workwoman." 

It  was  Saturday.     While  Mme.  Dalignac  was  paying 


MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  75 

wages,  every  one  had  a  word  to  say  about  the  new- 
comer. 

Bergeounette  thought  her  strong  and  healthy. 
Bouledogue  had  noticed  that  her  clothes  were  very  clean, 
and  Duretour  envied  her  height  and  complexion. 

Mme.  Dalignac  herself  appeared  to  be  so  pleased  that 
I  did  not  dare  to  distress  her  by  saying  that  the  em- 
broideress  had  the  shifty  eye  of  the  alcoholic. 

The  first  three  days  all  went  well,  but  on  the  fourth 
the  embroideress  brought  in  a  liter  of  wine  wrapped 
up  in  paper.  In  the  afternoon,  she  brought  in  an- 
other, which  she  drank  in  next  to  no  time.  And  when 
the  patron  made  a  remark  to  her  on  the  subject,  she 
replied,  "  When  you  work  hard,  you  get  thirsty." 

It  was  not  long  before  the  two  liters  were  not  suffi- 
cient, and  at  the  mid-morning  lunchtime  she  went  out 
to  the  wine-seller's. 

Then  she  began  to  make  spots  and  to  wander  away 
from  the  design  of  the  embroidery.  The  patron  began 
once  more  to  stamp  his  feet,  and  his  wife  was  filled  with 
a  veritable  despair.  She  tried  to  embroider  herself. 

"  It  can't  be  very  difficult,"  she  said. 

On  the  contrary,  it  was  very  difficult,  and  despite 
her  eagerness  she  had  to  give  it  up. 

The  patron  pitied  her.  "  Eh !  Poor  woman !  "  he 
said.  "  You  can't  do  everything." 

To  see  her  so  clever  and  courageous,  it  was  impossible 
to  imagine  that  there  could  be  any  kind  of  work  which 
she  could  not  do,  and  I  was  astonished  that  she  could 


T6  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

not  embroider  as  well  as  her  husband,  simply  by  sitting 
down  at  his  machine. 

From  the  second  week  onwards,  the  embroideress 
never  did  more  than  a  few  hours  of  good  work.  And 
on  the  last  Saturday  she  was  in  such  a  state  of  drunk- 
enness that  we  had  to  take  her  home.  It  was  not  easy 
to  make  her  go  down  the  stairs.  She  tried  to  escape 
from  us,  and  to  hit  herself  hard  against  the  wall  or 
the  bannister. 

I  tried  to  preserve  her  from  collisions,  but  Bergeou- 
nette  prevented  me. 

"  Let  her  crack  herself,"  she  said.  "  She  is  like  an 
overfull  barrel." 

In  the  end  we  found  an  old  embroiderer  who  had 
been  a  good  workman  in  his  time.  He  put  on  two 
pairs  of  spectacles  to  see  better,  and  the  patron  marked 
out  his  designs  more  clearly. 


VIII 

JACQUES  was  prowling  in  the  avenue.  Bergeounette 
who  saw  him  from  her  place  pointed  him  out  to  us.  He 
walked  with  his  head  down,  and  his  back  seemed  quite 
round. 

After  the  funeral  he  had  not  gone  home,  and  his  wife 
had  found  him  weeping  in  Sandrine's  little  room. 

The  neighbor,  who  knew  nothing  of  Jacques's  mar- 
riage, had  told  her  all  she  knew  of  their  love,  of  their 
sittings  up  together,  and  of  their  children.  And  the 
young  wToman,  deeply  offended,  had  left  Paris  to  await 
her  divorce. 

One  evening  Jacques  was  still  prowling  round  after 
the  departure  of  the  girls.  Mme.  Dalignac  called  him 
in  with  a  sign.  He  walked  all  round  the  workshop, 
as  if  he  hoped  to  find  Sandrine  in  some  corner;  then 
he  said,  "  I  know  quite  well  that  she  is  no  longer  here. 
But  it  seems  as  though  she  is  still  here." 

He  had  grown  very  thin,  and  he  retained  the  look  he 
had  had  on  the  day  of  the  funeral. 

He  soon  got  into  the  habit  of  coming  back.  He  came 
up  some  time  before  the  departure  of  the  girls,  and  he 
sat  at  the  end  of  the  room  in  order  not  to  be  in  the  way. 
He  brought  with  him  a  sense  of  great  mourning.  And 

Bergeounette  did  not  sing  when  she  knew  he  was  there. 

77 


T8  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Little  by  little,  however,  she  forgot  his  presence,  and  it 
happened  once  that  she  sang  this  verse  — 

"  Quand  je  vis  Madeline 
Pour  la  derniere  fois, 
Ses  mains  sur  sa  poitrine 
Etaient  posees  en  croix. 
Elle   etait   toute  blanche."1 

She  stopped  short,  because  the  patron  nudged  her 
with  his  elbow,  but  Jacques  went  away  almost  imme- 
diately, and  he  came  back  no  more. 

Despite  all  our  activity,  we  did  not  manage  to  satisfy 
our  customers.  Mme.  Dalignac  received  letters  of  com- 
plaint that  were  a  torture  to  her,  and  that  obliged  her 
to  make  endless  excuses.  The  fatigue  of  overtime  added 
to  the  other  fatigues  left  her  in  a  state  of  sick  nervous- 
ness, which  made  her  jump  violently  every  time  the 
doorbell  rang. 

One  morning,  having  just  opened  the  door,  Duretour 
announced,  "  It's  a  gentleman." 

Mme.  Dalignac  became  quite  pale,  and  she  had  much 
difficulty  in  speaking,  when  she  said,  "  Whatever  can 
the  gentleman  want  with  me  ?  " 

She  was  so  much  upset  that  her  whole  body  gave 
way  as  if  she  were  about  to  go  off  in  a  swoon.  Then 
little  Duretour  said  to  her  firmly :  "  What  are  you 
upsetting  yourself  like  that  for  ?  The  gentleman  hasn't 
come  to  try  on  a  dress." 

i "  When  I  saw  Madeline  for  the  last  time,  her  hands  were 
placed  crosswise  on  her  breast.     She  was   all  white." 


MAKIE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP  79 

Mme.  Dalignac  began  to  laugh,  with  a  little  pity  for 
herself.  She  squared  her  shoulders,  and  went  out  to 
see  the  gentleman.  He  was  a  traveler  in  embroideries. 
She  remained  with  him  a  few  minutes  only,  and  on  her 
return  she  laughed  once  more  at  her  motiveless  anguish. 

Our  long  evenings  continued.  We  spent  one  night  in 
every  two  finishing  the  most  urgent  work.  There  were 
nights  so  hard  to  endure  that  sleep  in  the  end  vanquished 
us,  and  the  patron  found  us  asleep  with  our  heads  on 
the  table.  We  were  all  stiff  with  the  cold,  and  the 
cheek  which  we  had  rested  on  our  arm  remained  marked 
for  a  long  time. 

"  You  would  do  much  better  to  lie  down  on  the 
floor,"  the  patron  scolded. 

And  while  we  took  up  our  work  again,  he  went  away 
to  the  kitchen  to  make  us  some  very  strong  coffee.  We 
drank  the  coffee  in  a  few  rapid  mouthfuls.  I  found 
it  sometimes  so  bitter  that  I  could  not  prevent  myself 
from  making  a  grimace  at  it;  but  Mme.  Dalignac  said, 
"Bah!  the  taste  doesn't  matter.  It's  like  putting  oil 
into  the  machine." 

An  intimacy  of  confidence  now  bound  us  together. 
When  our  tiredness  left  us  a  little  respite  we  talked 
open-heartedly,  and  the  nights  seemed  less  long  to  us. 

I  had  not  much  to  say  about  myself ;  but  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac confided  her  fears  and  troubles  to  me. 

Her  husband's  illness  did  not  make  her  very  uneasy. 
She  was  convinced  that  a  few  months'  rest  in  the  country 
would  quickly  cure  him,  but  she  did  not  know  what  to 
do  to  give  him  this  rest.  Most  of  her  customers  made 


80 

her  wait  for  her  money,  and,  since  the  patron  had 
stopped  working,  the  money  which  came  in  was  only 
just  enough  to  pay  the  girls  and  meet  the  expenses  of 
each  day. 

She  was  also  interested  in  my  future.  She  thought 
that  it  would  not  be  long  before  I  should  be  able  to 
make  dresses  as  well  as  the  best  of  needlewomen. 

"  It's  a  nice  trade,"  she  said,  "  and  there's  a  lot  of 
women  who  make  a  living  at  it." 

While  she  was  speaking,  I  thought  like  her,  and  I 
wanted  very  much  to  become  a  clever  dressmaker.  But 
when  she  stopped  speaking,  the  trade  seemed  to  me  to 
be  dull  and  full  of  troubles.  I  forgot  the  dresses  of 
every  color  and  every  shape  that  I  never  saw  leave  us 
except  with  regret,  so  great  was  my  pleasure  in  them. 
I  forgot  even  the  intelligent  and  almost  illuminated  face 
of  Mme.  Dalignac,  when  she  was  composing  her  models, 
and  I  only  remembered  her  torture  when  reproached  by 
her  customers,  the  continual  discontent  of  Bouledogue, 
and  the  toil  of  all  of  us. 

The  last  week  of  June  was  so  blocked  up  with  work 
that  big  Bergeounette  offered  to  stay  every  evening 
until  midnight.  With  her,  overtime  almost  became  an 
entertainment.  She  sang  and  told  stories  untiringly; 
and  the  patron  remained  behind  to  listen  to  her,  instead 
of  going  to  bed. 

She  remembered  a  quantity  of  queer  refrains  which 
she  had  heard  the  sailors  sing.  She  imitated  their 
uncertain  voice  at  the  closing  of  the  public-house,  and 
you  could  almost  see  them  going  back  to  their  boat,  wav- 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  81 

ing  their  arms  in  the  air  and  walking  with  tottering 
feet. 

She  spoke  of  her  mother  with  some  contempt,  but  the 
memory  she  retained  of  her  father  was  full  of  mocking 
pity,  and  her  voice  had  a  break  in  it  when  she  said  to 
us,  "  He  had  no  mischief  in  him,  and  he  thought  of 
nothing  but  drinking  and  singing." 

She  told  all  sorts  of  funny  stories  about  him.  And 
even  when  speaking  of  his  death  she  could  not  prevent 
herself  from  laughing. 

He  had  a  mania  for  going  down  the  well  which  was 
not  deep  and  which  dried  up  in  summer.  Nobody 
knew  how  he  got  down  into  it,  but,  once  at  the  bottom, 
he  made  shrill  cries,  for  some  one  to  come  and  help 
him  up  again.  One  day  he  drowned  himself  be- 
cause the  well  had  filled  up  as  the  result  of  a  big 
storm. 

And  Bergeounette  asserted,  "  I'm  certain  that  he  is 
in  heaven,  although  he  died  without  confession."  We 
laughed  and  midnight  came  quickly. 

During  the  day,  we  had  neither  story  nor  song,  and 
yet  the  hours  passed  with  a  rapidity  that  astonished 
everybody. 

Abruptly,  an  anxious  voice  would  say,  "  Five  o'clock 
already !  " 

And  breathing  would  become  noisier,  and  a  too 
fidgety  leg  would  stretch  out  suddenly  beneath  the  table. 

Our  sole  moments  of  respite  were  occasioned  by  Ro- 
berte's  grimaces  and  Duretour's  teasings. 

Roberte  asserted  that  she  was  a  Parisian,  but  nobody 


82          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

believed  her.  She  had  a  coarse  accent  which  she  tried 
to  hide  by  imitating  the  dragging  speech  of  the  suburbs. 
And  when  she  happened  to  let  slip  a  word  of  dialect, 
Duretour  asked  her,  "  What  part  of  the  country  do  you 
come  from  ? " 

Roberte  blinked  her  eyes  hastily,  as  if  she  were  afraid 
of  having  forgotten  the  name  of  her  province,  and  she 
always  replied,  "  I'm  a  Parisian,  but  not  from  Mont- 
parnasse." 

"  So  I  should  think,"  replied  Duretour,  laughing  in 
her  face. 

At  other  times,  Duretour  amused  herself  by  throwing 
bits  of  material  on  to  her  head,  and,  to  make  her  stop, 
Roberte  cried  in  a  loud  and  threatening  voice,  "  Get  out ! 
Get  out!" 

This  reminded  me  of  a  cowman  of  my  village  crying 
after  his  cows,  to  prevent  them  from  browsing  on  the 
shoots  of  young  trees.  And  my  laughter  joined  that  of 
the  others. 

We  knew  that  after  the  days  of  the  great  races,  the 
work  would  be  less  toilsome,  and  that  kept  up  our  cour- 
age. Little  by  little,  Bouledogue  stopped  growling,  and 
Mine.  Dalignac  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely. 

But  there,  two  days  before  the  Grand  Prix,  just  when 
most  of  our  orders  were  about  to  be  delivered,  a  customer 
arrived  with  an  immense  noise. 

Duretour  recognized  her  by  the  way  she  pulled  the 
bell.  "  It's  Mme.  Linella,"  she  said. 

Mme.  Linella  was  a  very  pretty  and  very  well-built 
customer,  who  trusted  in  Mme.  Dalignac's  good  taste, 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  83 

but  who  always  ordered  her  dresses  at  the  last  moment. 
However,  as  we  had  just  made  specially  for  her,  for 
the  day  of  the  Grand  Prix,  a  magnificent  red  dress 
embroidered  all  over,  nobody  was  worried  by  her  ar- 
rival. 

She  entered  the  workroom  in  spite  of  Duretour,  who 
tried  to  stand  in  her  way,  and  she  said  very  quickly 
to  Mme.  Dalignac,  "  I  know  that  you're  busy,  and  I 
don't  want  to  waste  your  time." 

She  leant  against  the  table  to  explain. 

"  It's  a  white  dress  I  want.  Make  the  skirt  very 
clinging  and  the  blouse  very  full,  without  embroidery, 
because  I  want  to  be  the  only  one  on  the  field  who 
hasn't  any." 

She  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  added  curtly :  "  And 
you  will  bring  it  to  me  on  Sunday  morning  before  ten 
o'clock." 

"  You're  asking  for  the  impossible ;  it  can't  be  done 
in  the  time,"  Mme.  Dalignac  replied  without  looking 
at  her. 

The  customer's  eyes  hardened,  as  if  she  were  about  to 
lose  her  temper. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  she  said.  She  softened  however. 
"  Without  that  dress  I  shan't  be  able  to  go  to  Long- 
champs." 

And  she  continued  to  insist  on  the  extreme  need  she 
had  of  an  unembroidered  dress  for  that  special  day. 

Mme.  Dalignac  made  no  further  answer.  She  simply 
went  on  making  a  gesture  of  refusal  with  her  head. 
Then  Mme.  Linella  tried  coaxing. 


84          MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

"  Come  now !  You'll  work  a  little  overtime,  and  it's 
done!" 

Mme.  Dalignac  laughed  in  a  way  that  drew  down 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  She  raised  her  elbow  with 
a  jaded  air,  as  if  to  push  her  customer  away,  and  just 
when  we  thought  she  was  going  to  refuse  once  more  she 
let  fall  her  arm,  and  promised  to  make  the  dress  by 
Sunday  morning. 

There  was  a  murmuring  among  us,  but  Mme.  Linella 
was  already  on  her  way  to  the  door.  She  came  back 
to  say,  "  I've  just  had  an  idea  for  the  blouse.  You'll 
put  just  a  touch  of  blue  at  the  neck  and  waist." 

She  went  off  only  to  return  again.  "  Above  all, 
make  me  sleeves  that  don't  look  like  sleeves." 

And  this  time,  she  was  gone  for  good.  The  patron 
immediately  asked  his  wife,  "  You  won't  make  the  dress, 
eh?" 

"  How  do  I  know,"  replied  Mme.  Dalignac.  And 
over  her  face  there  passed  a  look  of  discouragement  so 
intense  that  you  would  have  said  that  she  was  going  to 
weep.  But  it  did  not  last  long ;  her  eyes  had  that  absent 
and  preoccupied  expression  in  them  which  came  when 
she  had  a  difficult  dress  to  invent,  and  the  anxious  words 
of  the  patron  did  not  seem  to  reach  her. 

In  the  workshop,  we  laughed  at  the  customer. 

"  It's  a  long  way  off,  that  white  dress  of  hers,"  said 
Duretour. 

"  Nobody's  preventing  her  from  running  after  it," 
sneered  Bergeounette. 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP  85 

Bouledogue,  her  nose  all  wrinkled  up  in  anger,  mut- 
tered, "  There's  a  limit  to  everything." 

In  the  evening,  when  I  was  alone  with  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac,  she  said  to  me,  "  By  working  all  night  Saturday, 
we  should  perhaps  manage  to  make  Mme.  Linella's 
dress." 

I  pushed  out  my  lips  as  a  sign  of  doubt.  I  felt  very 
tired,  and,  moreover,  I  feared  that  I  should  not  be  of 
much  help,  for  I  foresaw  that  the  dress  would  be  all 
lace  and  muslin,  and  I  had  very  little  skill  with  that 
kind  of  work. 

She  went  on  as  though  she  had  guessed  my  thoughts, 
"  You  could  do  the  skirt,  which  will  be  of  soft  material, 
and  I  will  do  the  blouse." 

I  did  not  reply.  I  thought  of  the  red  dress  on  which 
we  had  already  worked  late,  and  an  anger  like  Boule- 
dogue's  against  this  capricious  customer  came  to  me. 

Mme.  Dalignac  went  on  again,  "  It  will  be  the  last 
night  we  shall  spend  like  that." 

She  waited  a  moment  before  she  said,  as  if  to  herself, 
"  How  can  we  get  out  of  it,  now  that  I  have  promised  ?  " 

Her  anguished  voice  made  me  forget  in  a  trice  all 
my  ill-will.  I  understood  that  she  would  do  her  very 
best  to  satisfy  her  customer,  and  that  nothing  would 
prevent  her  from  working  another  night.  Then  I  prom- 
ised not  to  leave  her  alone  and  to  help  her  with  all  my 
courage. 

The  dress  was  not  yet  cut  when  Mme.  Linella  camfe 
to  try  it  on,  and  she  had  to  wait  more  than  an  hour, 


86  MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

After  her  departure,  while  the  others  were  finishing 
what  had  to  be  sent  home  the  same  evening,  I  took  out 
the  trial  pins,  and  I  basted  the  skirt  with  the  colored 
threads  that  were  to  guide  me. 

.  Bouledogue  blew  strongly  through  her  nose,  and  Ber- 
geounette  hummed  the  refrain  which  an  old  beggar  sang 
beneath  the  windows  of  the  workshop  — 

"Elle  avait  ce  jour-la  mis  line  robe  blanche, 
Ou  flottait,  pour  ceinture,  un  large  ruban  bleu."  1 

Little  Duretour  left  last.  Her  pretty  face  was  full 
of  pity,  when  she  offered  to  come  in,  on  the  following 
morning,  to  take  home  the  dress. 

The  light  of  day  still  illuminated  the  avenue,  when 
Mme.  Dalignac  brought  the  lighted  lamp  to  the  table. 
She  drew  up  a  stool  facing  me,  and  the  night's  work 
began. 

The  hours  passed;  a  church  clock  counted  them  one 
by  one  without  forgetting  the  quarters  and  the  half- 
hours,  and  the  sounds  entered  the  open  window  as  if 
their  mission  were  to  remind  us  that  we  had  not  a  minute 
to  lose. 

The  twelve  strokes  of  midnight  echoed  for  so  long 
that  Mme.  Dalignac  went  and  shut  the  window,  as  she 
sometimes  shut  the  door  behind  a  customer  who  de- 
manded too  much.  But  the  hours  that  followed  did  not 
tire.  They  passed  through  the  window-panes,  and  their 
shrill  sounds  made  a  ceaseless  call  on  our  attention. 

i "  She  had  put  on  that  day  a  white  dress,  on  which  fluttered 
a  belt  of  wide  blue  ribbon," 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  87 

Now  and  then,  Mme.  Dalignac  was  overcome  by  sleep. 
She  let  go  of  her  needle  suddenly  and  her  head  fell  for- 
ward, and  to  see  her  thus  you  would  have  said  that  she 
was  looking  attentively  into  the  palm  of  her  right  hand, 
which  remained  half-open  on  her  work. 

At  these  times  I  gave  her  a  little  push  with  my  finger, 
and  the  smile  that  she  gave  me  was  full  of  confusion. 

For  some  time,  the  trams  had  stopped  passing  down 
the  avenue.  Even  the  cabs  had  ceased,  and,  in  the  si- 
lence which  now  spread  over  the  town,  the  church  clock 
suddenly  counted  three.  Mme.  Dalignac  sat  upright, 
while  from  her  mouth  escaped  a  short  breath.  She  put 
down  her  work,  and  got  up  painfully  to  go  and  make  tea. 

The  moment  she  went  out,  I  perceived  that  the  lamp 
was  running  low.  It  rapidly  went  lower  and  lower, 
and  it  gave  me  a  feeling  of  real  anguish.  I  turned 
it  up  with  a  sharp  movement,  but,  instead  of  increasing 
its  light,  it  only  threw  out  a  long  flame  mingled  with 
sparks,  and,  as  if  it  had  just  used  up  in  one  effort  the 
whole  of  its  reserves,  it  went  cluck,  cluck,  and  died  out. 

It  was  like  being  overwhelmed  by  a  catastrophe,  and, 
for  a  moment,  I  thought  that  all  was  lost.  I  turned  to 
the  window  for  help,  but  I  was  so  upset  that  I  seemed 
to  see  through  the  panes  a  wide  cloth  worked  with  silver. 
I  recognized  almost  immediately  the  sky  and  the  re- 
mainder of  its  waning  stars.  At  the  same  time,  I  under- 
stood that  the  day  was  breaking,  and  that  the  lamp  was 
becoming  useless.  Then  I  let  my  body  huddle  into  rest, 
and  I  yielded  to  the  immense  desire  for  a  few  minutes' 
sleep. 


88          MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Mme.  Dalignac  woke  me  up  by  returning  with  the 
tea.  She  complained  of  the  nasty  smell  which  the 
charred  wick  made  in  the  room,  and  she  reopened  the 
window,  saying,  "  The  fresh  air  will  do  us  good." 

I  shivered  when  the  fresh  air  touched  me.  At  that 
moment,  I  would  have  preferred  all  the  nasty  smells 
to  that  pure  air  which  brought  me  a  livelier  suffering. 
However,  I  got  used  to  it  little  by  little,  and  soon  I  was 
myself  leaning  on  my  elbows  at  the  window. 

All  the  stars  had  disappeared.  The  sky  was  a  bluish 
gray.  And  away  in  the  east,  little  pink  clouds  went 
in  flocks  to  meet  the  sun. 

Near  at  hand,  beneath  the  high  glass  roof  of  Mont- 
parnasse  Station,  a  locomotive  whistled  softly,  as  if  it 
were  secretly  calling  somebody.  Others  arrived,  slid- 
ing silently  along  the  rails,  and  flinging  out  a  sharp, 
clear  whistle  like  a  glad  morning  greeting. 

Below,  the  milk-carts  were  beginning  to  come  noisily 
down  the  avenue,  and  the  ragpickers  were  already  rum- 
maging in  the  dustbins. 

Mme.  Dalignac  poured  out  the  tea.  She  poured  it  out 
gently  to  avoid  splashes,  and  it  flowed  so  black  from  the 
teapot  that  you  would  have  taken  it  for  coffee.  It  did 
not  at  once  give  us  the  energy  we  expected  of  it.  On 
the  contrary,  its  heat  wrapped  us  in  a  feeling  of  com- 
fort and  weakened  us,  but  half -past  three  sounded  force- 
fully in  our  ears,  and  before  the  full  light  of  day  had 
come,  I  had  taken  up  my  skirt  and  Mme.  Dalignac  her 
blouse. 


89 

Against  my  will,  I  turned  my  eyes  towards  the  con- 
fusion of  lace  and  muslin  which  was  to  form  the  sleeves 
of  Mine.  Linella's  blouse.  Mme.  Dalignac  made  them 
up  first  of  all  with  lace ;  then  she  pinned  on  muslin, 
which  she  rejected  for  more  lace.  Nothing  satisfied 
her,  and  at  each  change  she  repeated  mechanically  these 
words,  which  sounded  as  loudly  in  my  ears  as  the  strik- 
ing of  the  hours :  "  Sleeves  that  don't  look  like  sleeves." 

She  at  last  came  to  a  decision,  and,  after  an  hour's 
work,  she  stood  away  from  the  model  to  judge  the  effect 
better.  But  when  she  turned  to  me  to  ask  my  opinion, 
as  she  often  did,  she  saw  that  I  was  already  looking  at 
the  sleeves,  and  without  my  saying  a  word,  she  re- 
treated to  the  wall,  and  began  to  weep.  She  wept 
flabbily,  and  said  inarticulately,  "  I'm  too  tired ;  I  can't 
do  any  good." 

She  remained  leaning  against  the  wall  for  a  moment, 
her  face  hidden  in  her  hands.  Then,  as  if  she  had 
really  come  to  the  end  of  her  strength  and  courage,  she 
gave  way  suddenly  and  fell  upon  her  knees. 

She  tried  to  get  up,  but  the  weight  of  her  head  was 
too  heavy,  and  her  hands  remained  glued  to  the  floor. 
She  gave  one  more  start,  like  a  person  trying  to  avoid 
sleep ;  but  in  the  same  movement,  her  elbows  doubled  up 
and  she  rolled  over  on  to  her  side. 

I  thought  that  she  had  fainted,  and  I  jumped  up 
hastily  to  go  to  her  help,  but  leaning  over  her  I  saw 
that  she  was  in  deep  sleep.  She  slept  with  her  mouth 
open,  and  her  breathing  was  harsh  and  regular. 


90  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

I  slipped  a  roll  of  lining  beneath  her  head,  and  fearing 
to  go  to  sleep  like  her  I  passed  a  damp  cloth  over  my 
face. 

"  Sleeves  that  don't  look  like  sleeves." 

I  looked  at  them  for  a  long  time,  then  I  undid  them, 
and,  after  having  folded  the  muslin,  adjusted  the  in- 
sertion and  arranged  the  lace,  I  stood  away  in  turn  from 
the  model  to  judge  the  effect.  Six  o'clock  struck  at  that 
moment,  and  the  patron  entered  the  workshop  with  his 
yellow  complexion  and  his  dishevelled  hair.  He 
walked  round  the  blouse,  making  gestures  of  admiration, 
and  he  said,  pointing  to  his  wife,  "  She  can  sleep  now ; 
she  has  done  well." 

And  off  he  went  quickly  to  the  kitchen.  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac  awoke  at  the  noise. 

She  could  not  believe  that  her  sleeves  were  made. 
She  touched  them  one  after  the  other  with  a  timorous 
air,  as  if  she  feared  to  see  them  disappear  suddenly. 
She  also  tried  to  speak,  but  she  had  lost  her  voice. 

I  did  not  speak  either.  I  felt  that  the  slightest  word 
would  bring  with  it  additional  fatigue,  and  I  made 
signs  to  show  what  remained  to  be  done. 

I  went  back  to  my  place.  The  sun  passing  over  the 
new  house  sought  to  frame  itself  in  a  pane  of  the  window 
and  blinded  me.  My  eyelids  closed,  and  for  a  moment 
sleep  crushed  me.  Then  a  sort  of  numbness  seized  me. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  a  great  hole  was  forming  in  my 
chest,  and  there  was  nothing  left  in  me  but  the  fixed  idea 
that  the  dress  must  be  delivered  at  all  costs  before  ten 
o'clock. 


IX 

ON  Monday  morning  the  workshop  was  clean  and 
without  a  shred  of  material  lying  about.  There  were 
only  the  threads  and  the  hooks  and  the  eyes  mingled  in 
the  basket.  Bouledogue,  who  did  not  like  waiting,  asked 
as  soon  as  she  was  seated,  "  What  have  I  got  to  do  now  ?  " 

And  immediately  the  others  put  the  same  question. 

Mme.  Dalignac  unrolled  a  pink  cloth  on  her  table, 
and  it  was  the  patron  who  replied  good-humoredly,  "  I 
say !  He  ?  My  wife  has  been  asleep  all  night  instead 
of  cutting  out  dresses."  He  pointed  to  the  entangled 
threads.  "  Amuse  yourselves  by  straightening  that 
out !  "  he  said. 

Mme.  Dalignac  was  still  looking  extremely  tired. 
She  was  doubled  up  on  herself,  and  seemed  unable 
to  bear  the  weight  of  her  body,  which  she  leaned  against 
anything  within  reach. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  old  embroiderer  and 
I  were  inundating  our  machines  with  petrol  to  clean 
them  of  dirt  and  grease,  and  the  girls  disentangled  and 
wound  up  the  threads  with  a  sprightliness  that  seemed 
to  betoken  a  fear  of  losing  time.  Then  the  workshop 
was  again  filled  with  voices.  Every  one  gave  an  ac- 
count of  how  she  had  spent  her  Sunday.  Duretour 

had  dragged  her  sweetheart  to  the  races  with  the  sole 

91 


92  MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

object  of  making  certain  that  Mme.  Linella  had  not 
worn  her  white  dress. 

The  day  before,  after  having  taken  the  dress  home, 
she  had  returned  in  haste  to  inform  us  that  the  lady's- 
maid  had  said  to  her,  "  Don't  undo  the  parcel.  I'll  put 
it  in  the  wardrobe." 

And  now,  she  was  as  gay  as  a  street-urchin,  as  she 
told  us  what  she  had  done  to  make  herself  recognized 
by  our  customer,  who  had  become  as  red  as  her  dress 
perceiving  her. 

Bouledogue  had  not  even  gone  to  the  ball.  She  had 
spent  her  day  washing  and  ironing  the  under-linen  of 
two  weeks.  And  when  the  patron  said  to  her  that  she 
would  have  done  better  to  rest,  she  replied  without  growl- 
ing, "  A  change  of  work  rests  you." 

2sTor  had  Bergeounette  gone  to  the  races.  She  had 
prowled  round  the  churches  of  her  neighborhood  as 
was  her  wont. 

The  patron  could  not  believe  that  she  could  remain 
quiet  the  whole  length  of  a  Mass,  and  Bergeounette  con- 
fessed that  it  gave  her  no  pleasure  to  kneel  for  prayer. 
But  the  resplendent  altars,  the  magnificent  vestments  of 
the  priests,  and  the  broad  chant  of  the  organs  gave  her 
a  contentment  she  never  tired  of. 
•  To-day,  she  wanted  principally  to  say  that  she  had 
seen  me  standing  against  a  pillar  of  Notre-Dame-des- 
Champs.  She  was  sure  that  I  was  not  praying,  since  I 
had  my  nose  in  the  air,  but,  in  spite  of  this,  she  had 
not  succeeded  in  attracting  my  attention. 

Duretour,  who  had  never  entered  a  church,  cried  out, 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  93 

"  She  was  waiting  for  a  sweetheart  to  fall  down  to  her 
from  heaven." 

I  generally  took  little  notice  of  chaff,  but  when  Ber- 
geounette  had  finished  turning  to  ridicule  my  appear- 
ance of  thinking  of  nothing,  I  could  not  prevent  myself 
from  making  fun  of  her  by  saying  that  I  had  seen  her 
all  right  on  her  arrival  in  the  church,  where  she  had 
changed  places  more  than  twenty  times  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour.  And  while  she  showed  astonishment  at  my 
reply,  I  took  advantage  of  it  to  add :  "  At  that  moment 
you  scarcely  had  time  to  think  of  me;  you  were  too 
occupied  in  kneeling  about  all  over  the  place." 

Duretour,  who  had  cried  out  on  me,  did  the  same  on 
Bergeounette. 

"  She  was  playing  at  hide  and  seek,"  she  said,  "  with 
the  angels." 

The  patron  interposed  his  word,  "  Te !  Her  prayers 
were  no  longer  than  a  halleluia,  I  should  say." 

The  workshop  overflowed  with  laughter,  and  Bergeou- 
nette jumped  about  and  laughed  louder  than  anybody. 
Nobody  thought  of  past  fatigues,  or  of  the  caprices  of 
beautiful  customers,  who  make  workgirls  keep  up  all 
night  in  order  to  have  one  more  dress  in  their  wardrobe. 
Mme.  Dalignac  herself  seemed  to  have  recovered  her 
strength,  and  her  gentle  face  was  full  of  light.  And 
while  she  busied  herself  preparing  the  work,  Bergeou- 
nette continued  to  amuse  us  with  a  story  of  her  child- 
hood. 

She  loved  the  little  church  of  her  village  so  much 
that  she  always  arrived  first  at  the  catechism.  But  she 


94  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

could  not  remain  quiet,  and  she  always  quarreled  with 
her  companions. 

The  old  cure  scolded  her;  then  he  clasped  his  hands 
as  if  he  were  asking  God  for  patience  to  bear  with  her, 
and,  when  he  could  stand  it  no  longer,  he  sent  her  to 
sit  with  the  boys. 

And  Bergeounette  told  this  story. 

"  It  was  a  little  before  the  end  of  the  catechism. 
The  smack  I  had  just  given  to  my  neighbor  sounded 
so  loud  that  the  girls  all  got  up  to  see  where  it  came 
from.  The  old  cure  got  up  too,  much  more  quickly 
than  I  thought  him  capable  of,  and  he  pushed  me  as 
far  as  the  dark  place  below  the  staircase  that  led  to  the 
steeple.  I  didn't  dare  move  first  of  all,  for  fear  of 
falling  into  some  hole,  but  I  soon  caught  sight  of  a 
thick  rope  hanging  near  me,  and,  to  imitate  the  sailors, 
I  tried  to  climb  it.  It  wasn't  easy;  my  sabots  slipped 
on  the  rope,  and  I  kept  falling  down.  But  suddenly 
above  my  head  the  bell  rang  once,  then  again,  then  once 
more,  as  if  it  were  tolling  a  knell.  I  stopped  jumping 
at  the  rope  to  listen,  but  at  the  same  moment  the  cure 
dragged  me  from  my  hiding-place,  crying  indignantly, 
<  Oh !  Oh  !  Oh ! '  The  bell  stopped  ringing,  and  the 
children  ran  up  jostling  one  another,  while  the  cure 
could  find  no  more  to  say  than,  '  Oh !  Oh !  Oh ! '  He 
opened  the  church  door,  and  I  came  out  among  boys  and 
girls  running  and  laughing  and  shouting  as  they  had 
never  done  before  in  the  village.'7 

And  Bergeounette  added,  without  laughing,  "  When 


95 

my  mother  put  me  across  her  knee  she  didn't  toll  any 
knell,  but  a  fine  holiday  peal." 

The  week  did  not  bring  with  it  the  peace  we  had  ex- 
pected. We  counted  the  dresses  that  still  remained  to 
be  done,  and  Bergeounette  began  to  be  frightened  at 
the  idea  that  there  would  soon  be  no  more  work.  More- 
over, the  patron  seemed  to  get  still  weaker,  and  he  could 
hardly  bear  the  noise  of  the  machines.  Mme.  Dalignac 
began  to  prepare  for  their  departure  to  the  Pyrenees. 
M.  Bon  had  advised  this,  in  the  hope  that  the  sick  man 
would  recover  more  quickly  in  his  native  air. 

She  spent  a  part  of  her  time  running  from  one  cus- 
tomer to  another,  to  get  paid  for  her  work,  but  she 
often  returned  tired,  upset  and  without  money.  In  the 
evening  I  helped  her  to  make  out  her  invoices,  and, 
while  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  account-book,  I 
was  astonished  at  the  large  number  of  accounts  which 
had  not  been  settled  for  years.  Yet  the  same  customers 
continued  to  have  their  dresses  made  by  us.  Some  of 
them  were  even  very  exacting,  and  only  paid  for  their 
new  clothes  with  small  sums  at  long  intervals. 

I  added  up  the  amounts  lost  in  this  way,  and  I  could 
not  repress  a  tone  of  reproach  as  I  said,  "  This  money 
would  be  very  useful  to  you  now.  It  would  enable 
your  husband  to  rest  a  long  while,  and  perhaps  recover 
altogether." 

Her  eyes  widened  and  became  very  attentive.  She 
looked  into  space,  as  if  she  had  suddenly  perceived  an 


96          MAEIE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP 

easy  way  to  achieve  her  end  more  quickly;  but  she 
lowered  her  eyes  immediately,  and  her  mouth  and  chin 
gave  a  little  twitch,  as  when  you  want  to  laugh  and  cry 
at  the  same  time;  then  she  bent  her  head,  and  said  in 
great  shame,  "  I've  never  been  able  to  claim  what  is  due 
to  ma" 

An  immense  pity  for  her  came  to  me.  I  was  ashamed 
in  turn  at  having  obliged  her  to  humiliate  herself,  and 
I  pushed  the  account-book  away  from  me  angrily,  as 
if  it  were  that  which  had  reproved  her. 

The  idea  of  leaving  Paris  was  unbearable  to  the 
patron.  He  gazed  endlessly  at  the  balconies  of  the  new 
house,  which  the  sun  lighted  and  warmed.  The  middle 
one  especially  attracted  his  attention.  It  stood  out 
broad  and  round  like  an  enormous  stomach,  and  Boule- 
dogue  asserted  that  it  was  twice  as  large  as  the  room 
she  lived  in  with  her  grandmother. 

The  patron  said  to  his  wife :  "  You  know,  if  it  were 
ours,  you  could  make  a  tent  for  me  on  it  with  a  sheet, 
and  I  could  remain  all  day  lying  on  the  warm  stone." 

"  But,  since  we  are  going  to  the  Pyrenees,"  replied 
Mme.  Dalignac. 

"  The  Pyrenees.  .  .  .  The  Pyrenees,"  grumbled  the 
patron,  making  a  grimace. 

Prom  the  second  week  of  July  work  failed  altogether. 
!Never  had  the  slack  season  begun  so  soon.  It  was  like 
a  disaster  to  us  all. 

Bergeounette  moved  about  jerkily,  and  Bouledogue, 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  97 

who  forgot  to  show  her  teeth,  rolled  up  her  apron  in  a 
newspaper  with  an  air  of  profound  discouragement. 

In  spite  of  her  many  troubles,  Mme.  Dalignac  would 
not  leave  without  giving  the  little  entertainment  at 
which  each  year  she  united  her  family  and  her  work- 
girls.  And,  in  agreement  with  the  patron,  she  chose 
for  it  the  day  on  which  her  nephew  Clement  was  to 
come  home  on  leave. 

I  had  never  seen  Clement,  who  was  doing  his  military 
service  in  a  garrison  some  distance  from  Paris,  but  I 
had  often  heard  speak  of  him.  Trifling  arguments 
about  him  would  take  place  between  Mme.  Dalignac 
and  her  husband.  The  patron  would  have  preferred 
to  see  him  a  little  less  self-willed  and  obstinate,  while 
his  wife  called  it  firmness  of  character. 

"  He'll  be  a  real  man,"  she  said,  laughing.  One  day, 
speaking  of  an  accident  in  which  she  might  have  lost 
her  life,  she  had  added,  "  Luckily  Clement  was  there. 
With  him  I  had  nothing  to  fear." 

The  patron,  who  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  work- 
shop, had  turned  to  reply  with  an  irritated  air,  "Eh? 
Stop  it !  If  he  hadn't  been  there,  wouldn't  I  have  saved 
you?" 

Mme.  Dalignac  had  laughed  softly,  stretching  out  her 
open  hand  to  her  husband,  and  this  affectionate  gesture 
was  at  the  same  time  so  full  of  protection  that  the  patron 
had  bent  his  head  as  if  the  hand  touched  him  really, 
and  he  could  lean  against  it. 

Clement  had  two  sisters,  Eglantine  and  Rose.  These 
were  all  the  relations  remaining  to  Mme.  Dalignac. 


98  MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

She  had  taken  them  in  at  the  death  of  their  parents, 
when  the  girls  were  already  fourteen  and  fifteen  years 
of  age,  and  Clement  was  still  only  an  urchin  of  ten. 

Rose,  the  elder,  had  married  a  Paris  guard.  She  was 
elegant  and  a  coquette,  and  spent  all  her  time  adorning 
herself  and  her  children.  Eglantine  lived  with  the 
young  household.  She  loved  and  looked  after  her  sis- 
ter's little  ones  with  a  limitless  devotion,  and  the  patron 
said  that  their  true  mother  was  not  Rose.  It  could  be 
easily  seen  that  the  patron  preferred  Eglantine  to  Rose, 
but  it  could  also  be  seen  that  his  wife  loved  Clement 
more  than  Eglantine. 

When  I  arrived  to  help  Mme.  Dalignac  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  dinner-party,  Clement  was  already  there. 

He  looked  as  spick  and  span  as  a  new  article,  and  I 
saw  immediately  that  his  smile  was  full  of  self-assur- 
ance. He,  too,  stared  at  me,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that, 
in  shaking  hands,  he  held  mine  longer  than  was  neces- 
sary. 

He  was  occupied  in  emptying  the  workshop  to  make 
more  room.  Nothing  troubled  him.  He  pushed  back 
the  dummies'  faces  to  the  wall,  pressing  them  closely  to- 
gether, and  he  placed  on  top  an  enormous  pile  of  card- 
board boxes.  He  was  lithe  in  his  movements,  and  his 
well-fitting  clothes  followed  them  all. 

As  he  joined  the  two  tables  together  to  make  one 
of  them,  he  pointed  out  each  one's  place  to  me. 

"  Above  all,"  he  said,  "  put  the  kiddies  next  to  Eglan- 
tine, and  don't  forget  to  place  Rose  near  her  husband." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP  99 

Mme.  Dalignac  laughed  with  him,  and  her  face 
showed  such  perfect  serenity  that  it  seemed  that  no  care 
would  ever  disturb  it  any  more. 

The  meal  was  composed  of  solid  foods.  Each  dish 
was  greeted  with  frank  gayety,  and  funny  sayings  set 
the  people  laughing  from  one  end  of  the  table  to  the 
other. 

The  large  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece  reflected  the 
round  head  and  the  straight  back  of  Clement.  And  it 
made  the  complexion  of  his  sister  Rose  seem  still  more 
glowing. 

Eglantine  constantly  leaned  over  one  or  other  of  the 
children,  and  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  I  saw  of 
her  face  only  a  thin  cheek  and  two  fresh  lips  pushed 
forward  for  a  kiss. 

She  did  not  resemble  her  brother,  and  still  less  her 
sister,  who  was  beautiful  and  very  different. 

I  could  not  see  the  patron,  but  I  heard  his  accent 
through  the  other  voices. 

"  Give  me  another  little  bit,  he  ?  " 

It  was  Bergeounette  who  sang  the  first  song  at  the 
dessert.  Bouledogue  followed  her.  Her  powerful, 
vibrant  voice  held  everybody. 

Roberte,  who  came  after,  sang  and  wriggled  about 
in  doing  so  in  such  a  way  that  Duretour  escaped  into 
the  kitchen  in  order  that  her  laughter  might  not  pro- 
voke that  of  the  others.  And  while  Rose  proudly  struck 
an  attitude  before  she  opened  her  mouth,  Eglantine  kept 
herself  in  an  awkward  position  in  order  not  to  disturb 


100         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

one  of  the  little  ones  who  had  gone  to  sleep  on  her  knees. 

Clement  required  pressing,  when  the  patron  said  to 
him,  "  Sing  us  The  Wine  of  Marsala." 

I  thought  it  was  a  drinking-song,  but  when  Clement 
got  up  to  sing,  he  put  on  so  serious  an  air  that  I  was 
immediately  all  attention. 

He  sought  for  the  first  words  and  began  — 

"  J'etais  un  jour  seul  dans  la  plaine, 

Quand  je  vis  en  face  de  moi, 
Un  soldat  de  vingt  ans  a  peine, 
Qui  portait  les  couleurs  du  roi."  1 

All  eyes  turned  towards  him,  and  every  elbow  rested 
on  the  table  as  he  attacked  the  refrain  and  shouted  — 

"  Ah !  que  maudite  soit  la  guerre."  2 

Then  the  verses  poured  out  one  after  the  other,  tell- 
ing at  length  the  story  of  death  — 

"  Ah !  je  ne  chantai  pas  victoire, 
Mais  je  lui  demandai  pardon. 
II  avait  soif,  je  le  fis  boire."  3 

Clement's  voice  went  up  and  down  with  inflexions 
that  made  our  bosoms  heave  higher  and  higher.  We 
followed  him  while  he  ran  to  bring  help  to  the  wounded 
man;  we  leant  with  him  to  look  for  the  wound  and 

1  "  I  was  one  day  alone  in  the  plain,  when  I  saw  before  me  a 
soldier  of  scarcely  twenty  years,  who  carried  the  king's  colors." 

2  "  Ah !  cursed  be  war." 

3  "  Ah !     I  did  not  sing  out  victory,  but  I  asked  his  pardon. 
He  was  thirsty,  I  gave  him  drink." 


MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         101 

stanch  it,  and  everybody  saw  clearly  the  portrait  of  the 
old  lady  which  the  young  soldier  carried  against  his 
heart. 

Therefore,  when  Clement  sang  that  his  regret  for  this 
death  would  last  as  long  as  his  life,  all  our  voices  united 
with  his  to  fling  out  like  a  great  cry  of  hatred  — 

"  Ah !  que  maudite  soit  la  guerre." 

There  was  no  applause  as  with  the  other  songs. 
Clement  sat  down  a  little  out  of  breath.  He  had  put 
such  spirit  into  his  song  that  you  would  have  thought 
that  he  really  had  just  killed  a  man  in  the  plain.  The 
sparkling  of  his  eyes  must  even  have  troubled  himself, 
for  he  shut  them  several  times. 

The  silence  went  on.  It  seemed  that  a  mysterious 
fear  had  just  entered  the  room,  and  was  prowling  round 
the  table  to  drive  away  our  gayety.  Elbows  remained 
on  the  cloth,  but  every  clenched  fist  became  a  support 
on  which  faces  full  of  seriousness  rested  heavily. 

The  patron  turned  to  Bergeounette  to  bring  back  our 
high  spirits,  but  Bergeounette  retained  an  engrossed  air, 
and  it  was  with  an  indifferent  voice  that  she  sang  an  old 
sad  song. 

We  separated  noisily. 

I  helped  Eglantine  to  put  on  the  children's  cloaks, 
while  their  mother  assured  herself  before  the  glass  that 
her  own  sat  well  on  her. 

The  following  day  was  the  day  of  departure.  It 
was  also  the  eve  of  the  Fete  Rationale.  Flags  floated 


102        MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

at  all  the  windows  of  the  avenue,  and  urchins  were  al- 
ready letting  off  crackers  on  the  pavements. 

I  found  Mme.  Dalignac  in  the  middle  of  her  half- 
packed  trunks.  Clement  bustled  about  her.  He  was 
clever  with  his  hands,  and  found  the  right  spot  straight 
away. 

Mme.  Dalignac  followed  him  with  affectionate  eyes; 
and  when  he  lifted  and  carried  downstairs  the  two  heavy 
trunks,  without  bending  beneath  their  weight,  she  said  to 
him  with  a  little  admiration,  "  You're  fit  enough  to  be 
married  now." 

The  platforms  of  the  station  were  crowded  with  people 
who  jostled  each  other  in  order  to  get  into  the  carriages, 
which  were  full  already.  The  patron  allowed  himself 
to  be  knocked  about  from  all  sides.  He  seemed  stiff, 
and  did  not  say  a  word.  However,  when  he  had  entered 
his  compartment  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  me. 

"  Good-by,  little  one,"  he  said. 

"  Au  revoir,  patron,  not  good-by,"  I  replied,  laugh- 
ing. 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly.  "  Really  \  "  he  said. 
"  You  think  I  shall  return  then  ?  " 

His  voice  was  so  different  from  what  it  had  been  the 
moment  before  that  I  was  struck  with  surprise.  I  did 
not  have  time  to  reply  to  him.  A  porter  who  was 
running  alongside  the  train,  pushed  me  away,  and  shut 
the  door  with  a  bang. 

The  patron  tried  to  lower  the  window,  but  it  stuck, 
and  the  train  was  beginning  to  start. 

Through  the  window  I  saw  his  eyes;  they  were  full 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         103 

of  questionings,  and  his  wife's  were  fearful  and  anxious. 
Then  the  two  faces  became  blurred  with  the  woodwork 
and  the  bars  of  copper,  and  the  train  took  the  curve, 
making  a  loud  noise  on  the  turn-tables  as  it  passed. 


THE  great  stretch  of  Paris  beneath  my  window  was 
bright  that  evening  with  thousands  and  thousands  of 
lights.  From  square  to  square  the  public  monuments 
were  shining,  and  they  increased  the  brightness  still 
more.  Nearer  to  me,  the  church  of  Notre-Dame-des- 
Champs  was  garlanded  with  colored  lamps,  while  Mont- 
parnasse  Station  was  encircled  by  a  band  of  gaslight 
which  made  a  kind  of  white  belt  round  it.  And  farther 
off,  high  up  above  the  town,  a  red  light  descended  slowly, 
seeming  to  slip  from  heaven  like  a  broad  curtain  of  silk. 

The  14th  of  July  was  beginning  its  night  festival. 

My  aged  neighbor  tapped  on  my  door  as  she  did 
each  Saturday  or  each  holiday  eve,  and  her  shrill  voice 
asked,  "  Are  you  there,  Marie  Claire  ?  " 

I  went  to  light  the  lamp,  but  she  prevented  me.  She 
knocked  against  the  table  which  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  groping  her  way  she  took  the  chair  I 
pulled  forward  for  her. 

She  was  scarcely  seated  when  she  said,  "  There !  I'm 
done.  My  last  customer  has  just  gone  to  the  seaside." 

There  was  a  large  content  in  her  voice.  But  imme- 
diately afterwards  she  said  fearfully  that  she  would  be 

two  months  without  earning  anything.     And  as  if  she 

104 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         105 

perceived  in  one  glimpse  all  the  privations  of  the  slack 
season,  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  " 

Mile.  Herminie  was  more  than  seventy  years  old,  and 
her  body  was  so  tiny  that  it  could  be  compared  to  that 
of  a  girl  of  thirteen.  She  earned  her  living  as  a  clothes- 
mender,  but  the  greater  part  of  her  time  she  was  com- 
pelled to  stay  at  home,  she  suffered  so  much  from  her 
stomach.  During  the  summer  holidays  she  was  often 
without  means,  and  it  was  a  miracle  how  she  went  on 
living. 

One  of  her  hands  was  now  resting  on  the  window- 
ledge,  and  the  other  made  a  little  bright  spot  on  her  black 
dress. 

In  turn,  I  spoke  of  the  departure  of  the  Dalignacs 
and  of  the  long  slack  season  in  front  of  me.  And  once 
again  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  " 

Joyful  noises  mounted  up  from  the  neighboring 
streets  and  from  the  boulevard.  You  might  almost  have 
said  that  these  noises  recognized  each  other  as  they  met, 
and  that  they  mingled  blithely  to  break  out  with  greater 
force. 

On  all  sides  rockets  were  flying  and  bursting  beneath 
the  stars,  while  colored  fires  flared  and  smoked  in  dark 
corners. 

Then  the  music  of  an  open  air  ball  was  heard.  The 
sounds  struck  the  houses  and  reached  us  half  broken. 
And  from  time  to  time  a  flag  we  could  not  see  flapped 
suddenly. 

We  were  silent.  The  fresh  air  coming  from  the  west 
touched  our  faces  and  brought  us  a  sort  of  peace.  And 


for  a  long,  long  time  during  this  night  of  festival,  my 
old  neighbor  remained  by  my  side  listening  to  the 
noise  of  other  people's  joy. 

The  first  weeks  of  the  holidays  were  sweet  to  us.  It 
was  as  if  each  day  was  still  Sunday.  Mile.  Herminie 
discovered  that  we  did  not  have  too  much  time  doing 
nothing,  and  she  no  longer  complained  of  her  stomach. 

She  wanted  to  take  me  out  for  a  walk,  but  she  had 
not  the  habit  of  walking  any  more  than  I  had.  We 
hurried  along  as  if  we  were  going  to  work,  and  we  re- 
turned tired  and  harassed  by  the  crowded  streets. 
Therefore,  after  a  few  days,  when  one  asked,  "  Shall 
we  go  out  to-day  ? "  the  other  replied,  "  We're  all  right 
here."  And  we  spent  our  days  cleaning  and  mending. 

Mile.  Herminie  had  a  quick  and  playful  mind,  but 
she  would  never  acknowledge  that  she  was  wrong.  On 
the  day  when  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  she  always 
found  the  right  word  for  her  own  defense,  she  replied, 
"  When  you  are  weak  in  body  you  must  have  a  strong 
tongue." 

Her  sallies  made  me  laugh,  and  I  paid  no  heed  to 
her  occasional  surliness.  She  feared  death  more  than 
anything,  and  no  wretchedness  and  no  suffering  could 
make  her  desire  it.  At  ordinary  times  she  struggled 
against  illness,  but  as  soon  as  she  felt  worse,  she  became 
afraid  and  said,  "  I  don't  mind  suffering,  providing  I 
live." 

I  always  felt  at  ease  with  her.  We  were  almost  al- 
ways in  agreement ;  our  different  ages  mingled  together, 


107 

and  we  felt  old  or  young  according  as  to  whether  there 
was  sadness  or  laughter  between  us. 

To  lessen  our  expenses  it  occurred  to  us  to  take  our 
meals  in  common.  Our  cooking  was  not  difficult.  We 
ate  potatoes  and  haricots  more  than  anything  else. 
Every  other  day  Mile.  Herminie  had  a  thin,  narrow 
cutlet  which  I  grilled  on  the  embers  of  the  little  stove. 
It  often  happened  that  the  cutlet  served  for  two  meals. 
She  cut  away  the  middle,  and  left  the  rest  on  her  plate, 
saying,  "  I'll  keep  the  bone  for  this  evening." 

She  took  an  infinite  time  to  eat  the  mouthfuls,  which 
she  cut  up  fine  as  for  a  very  small  child.  She  had  only 
two  long  and  useless  teeth  in  her  jaws,  which  stuck  out 
at  the  bottom  at  each  corner  of  her  mouth,  and  which 
made  me  think  of  the  fence  of  a  field  of  which  only  two 
worm-eaten  stakes  remained,  leaning  sideways. 

The  great  heats  of  summer  came  with  the  month  of 
August.  We  kept  door  and  window  open ;  nevertheless, 
there  were  hours  in  which  the  heat  was  so  sultry  that 
we  went  and  sat  on  the  stairs  in  the  hope  of  a  draught. 

Mile.  Herminie  suffered  most  at  night.  She  stifled 
in  her  room,  which  was  all  length  and  no  breadth.  Her1 
window  was  so  far  away  at  the  end  of  the  two  walls 
that  it  seemed  to  be  desirous  of  flying  from  the  narrow 
room. 

The  old  woman  had  a  veritable  hatred  of  these  two 
walls,  which  lowered  over  the  middle  of  the  room.  She 
spoke  to  them  as  to  living  and  maleficent  beings,  and 
when  I  laughed  at  her  anger,  she  said  with  wrathful 
eyes,  "  It's  they  that  prevent  the  air  from  entering." 


108         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP   ' 

She  had  lived  there  for  more  than  thirty  years,  and 
never  had  anything  been  changed.  Her  bedstead,  which 
had  been  broken  on  the  day  she  moved  in,  remained  in 
a  corner  unset  awaiting  repair.  Her  spring  mattress, 
which  lay  on  the  floor  and  which  had  a  hole  in  the 
middle,  was  covered  by  a  palliasse  which  sank  down 
into  the  hole. 

"  There's  no  danger  of  my  falling  out  of  bed  with  it 
like  that,"  she  used  to  say,  laughing. 

There-  was  also  hidden  behind  the  door  an  old  ward- 
robe with  a  looking-glass  front.  The  feet  had  had  to  be 
cut  off  in  order  to  get  it  in.  This  gave  it  a  wretched 
and  ridiculous  air,  and  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  the 
wardrobe  remained  on  its  knees  in  order  not  to  knock 
its  head  against  the  ceiling. 

Mile.  Herminie  lived  as  much  in  my  room  as  in  her 
own.  If  my  room  was  not  much  bigger  than  hers  it 
was  much  less  crowded,  and  there  was  nothing  to  pre- 
vent you  from  approaching  the  window. 

In  the  evening  we  heard  our  neighbors  descending  for 
a  breath  of  fresh  air  on  the  boulevard.  We  had  tried 
to  do  as  they  did,  but  the  dust  raised  by  vehicles  and 
pedestrians  made  the  air  thicker  and  more  unpleasant 
than  it  was  upstairs.  We  were  always  best  at  home. 

The  open  door  let  in  the  light  from  the  gas-bracket 
on  the  staircase,  and  when  our  neighbors  returned  the 
shadow  of  their  head  always  entered  the  room,  as  if  it 
had  come  to  see  what  was  happening. 

When  we  had  nothing  to  say  and  we  were  tired  of  the 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         109 

silence,  my  old  neighbor  made  me  sing  one'  of  the  pret- 
tiest of  Bergeounette's  songs  — 

"  Un  beau  navire  a  la  ricbe  carene." l 

I  sang  in  a  low  voice  for  us  alone.     Mile.  Herminie 
took  up  the  refrain  with  me  — 

"  Si  tu  le  vois,  dis-lui  que  je  1'adore."  2 

Her  thin,  trembling  voice  did  not  reach  beyond  the 
window. 

Sometimes  our  evenings  were  lengthy.  This  was 
when  we  both  talked  about  our  native  place.  Mile.  Her- 
minie spoke  of  hers  as  something  belonging  absolutely 
to  her,  which  she  should  have  possessed  all  her  life. 

Her  voice  became  strong  as  she  named  the  towns  and 
the  villages  all  surrounded  by  vines  which  could  be 
seen  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  from  the  top  of  Saint- 
Jacques  Hill.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  noise  of  the 
presses  nor  the  smell  of  new  wine  which  spread  over 
the  town  at  the  time  of  grape-gathering.  She  retained, 
too,  a  gay  memory  of  the  noisy  disputes  of  the  vintagers. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said.  "  In  my  parts,  the  lads  fight  first 
and  explain  afterwards,  and  everything  is  all  right." 

She  had  never  been  back  to  her  part  of  the  country 
since  she  had  left  it.  But  her  greatest  desire  was  to  see 
it  once  more.  Often  she  said  to  me,  "  You  see,  Marie 

i "  A  fine  ship  with  a  rich  keel." 

2  "  If  you  see  him,  tell  him  that  I  adore  him." 


110         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Claire,  those  who  haven't  seen  Burgundy  don't  know 
what  a  fine  country  it  is." 

And  as  though  she  had  suddenly  been  transported 
there,  she  rediscovered  new  corners  of  it,  which  she  care- 
fully described  to  me.  I  listened  to  her,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  none  of  the  roads  she  spoke  of  were  unknown 
to  me.  I  climbed  with  her  the  Saint-Jacques  Hill, 
which  gave  so  wonderful  a  wine  that  the  children  drank 
of  it  only  on  national  holidays.  I  walked  through  the 
vines,  which  became  so  yellow  in  autumn  that  the  coun- 
tryside had  the  appearance  of  being  made  of  gold,  and 
I  went  into  the  immense  cellars  where  the  barrels  were 
lined  up  and  piled  on  top  of  one  another  by  hundreds. 

Mile.  Herminie  was  a  little  contemptuous  of  her  cus- 
tomers who  went  to  the  seaside  instead  of  going  to  Bur- 
gundy, and  she  took  pity  on  me  because  my  Sologne 
produced  only  pines  and  buckwheat. 

I  felt,  because  of  it,  that  my  poverty  was  still  greater, 
and  confronted  by  the  riches  which  she  had  just  dis- 
played, and  which  surrounded  me  on  all  sides,  I  did  not 
dare  to  say  more  about  the  flowering  heaths  or  the 
freshness  of  the  shaded  roads  of  my  countryside. 

In  the  second  week  of  the  holidays  we  had  to  reduce 
our  expenses.  We  had  suppressed  the  early  morning 
breakfast  and  the  midday  cup  of  coffee.  Then  the  eve- 
ning soup  was  suppressed  in  its  turn  and  replaced  by 
dry  bread. 

Mile.  Herminie  began  to  complain  again  of  her  stom- 


Ill 

ach,  and  sometimes  she  confessed  in  the  morning,  "  Last 
night  I  drank  a  large  glass  of  water  to  stay  my  hunger." 
On  Sunday,  the  staircase  filled  with  kitchen  odors. 
You  could  smell  hot  meat,  golden  crusts  and  wines 
strong  in  alcohol.  It  pleased  us  as  much  as  if  we  were 
taking  part  in  the  feast.  And  my  old  neighbor  said  to 
me  quite  satisfied,  "  Luckily,  somebody's  eating." 

One  afternoon  Clement  appeared  in  the  open  door- 
way. He  was  not  wearing  his  uniform,  and  it  was  some 
moments  before  I  recognized  him.  He  came  in  without 
ceremony,  and  held  out  his  hand ;  and  he  made  a  vague 
gesture  when  I  asked  him  why  he  had  come. 

It  annoyed  me  a  little  to  see  him  there,  and  I  with- 
drew my  hand,  which  once  again  he  held  too  long.  Mile. 
Herminie  had  risen  immediately  to  return  to  her  own 
room,  and  as  Clement  seemed  to  wish  to  take  her  place, 
I  left  the  chair  and  stood  by  the  window. 

He  came  up  to  it  and  leaned  on  the  handrail.  He 
began  several  sentences  without  finishing  them;  then 
his  fingers  flicked  impatiently,  and  suddenly  he  seized 
the  shoulder-straps  of  my  apron,  saying,  "  That's  it ! 
I  think  you're  very  pretty." 

I  was  so  astonished  that  I  raised  my  eyes  quickly  to 
his.  He  did  not  lower  his,  but  the  look  in  them  showed 
some  uneasiness.  His  eyelids  went  up,  and  discovered 
all  the  white  above  the  pupil. 

He  went  on,  pulling  more  strongly  on  the  shoulder- 
strap  of  my  apron,  "  Yes,  I  think  you're  very  pretty." 


112        MAEIE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP 

By  the  way  he  emphasized  the  words  he  said  clearly 
that  he  alone  could  think  this,  but  that  the  opinion  of 
other  people  did  not  trouble  him. 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then  his  voice  went  on 
again.  He  spoke  as  people  do  who  are  in  haste  to  be 
approved.  He  united  our  two  futures  as  one,  as  if  to 
hold  them  better  in  his  hand  and  to  direct  them  as  he 
wished.  But  while  he  described  what  our  life  together 
would  be  when  I  had  become  his  wife  I  forgot  his  pres- 
ence, and  I  no  longer  even  heard  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

The  houses  and  the  streets  disappeared  as  well ;  heatha 
and  pines  rose  up  in  their  place.  And  there,  before  me, 
amidst  hollybush  and  wild  hazel  trees,  a  man  stood  mo- 
tionless and  looked  at  me. 

I  recognized  his  large,  gentle  eyes,  the  pupils  of  which 
joined  the  eyelids,  and  which  seemed  like  two  timid 
birds  resting  on  me  with  confidence.  Then  the  eyes 
and  the  heaths  changed  into  precious  stones  and  scattered 
over  the  returning  roofs,  while  Clement  said,  raising 
his  voice,  "  I  see  quite  well  that  you  don't  love  me.  But 
what  does  that  matter  ?  You  will  love  me  when  we  are 
married." 

I  tried  to  reply  to  him,  but  he  held  his  face  so  close 
to  mine  that  it  seemed  to  me  there  was  not  room  enough 
for  my  words.  His  breath  made  my  cheeks  hot,  and 
his  hand  was  very  heavy  on  my  shoulder. 

I  found  myself  with  him  near  the  stairs,  without 
knowing  how  we  had  come  there.  He  leaned  a  moment 
against  the  bannister  before  saying,  "  I'm  not  a  bad 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         113 

sort."  He  hesitated  a  little  before  adding,  "  And  you 
aren't  happy,  that's  plain." 

When  he  had  descended  a  dozen  stairs  he  turned 
round  and  smiled  at  me,  as  though  we  understood  one 
another  on  all  things.  And  as  he  disappeared,  I  saw 
that  his  neck  was  compact  and  well  set  between  his 
shoulders. 

Mile.  Herminie  did  not  question  me.  She  simply 
said  with  a  smile,  "  I  had  forgotten  that  you  were  of 
an  age  to  be  married." 

Clement's  fixed  pupils  came  back  to  my  mind's  eye, 
and  I  replied  at  once,  "  I'm  not  in  love  with  anybody." 

Mile.  Herminie's  smile  disappeared.  She  raised  her 
pointed  chin  towards  me,  and  in  a  voice  I  did  not  know, 
she  said,  "  Children  bring  so  much  happiness  that  all 
painful  memories  are  soon  wiped  out." 

I  shook  my  head  doubtfully.  Then  she  stretched  out 
her  arms,  trying  to  erect  a  bust  harder  than  wood,  and, 
as  if  she  were  exposing  herself  to  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
world,  she  said,  with  a  laugh  full  of  irony,  "  Look  at 
me,  then.  The  memory  of  my  lost  love  seems  to  me 
more  precious  than  anything." 

Her  face  expressed  an  immense  regret,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  I  saw  that  her  lips  were  still  full  and  fresh. 

She  let  fall  her  thin  arms,  adding  hollowly,  "  You 
become  like  something  dead  .  .  .  and  the  others  drift 
away  from  you." 

The  evening  passed  away  in  silence,  and  I  went  to 
bed  harassed,  as  if  I  had  walked  for  hours  on  a  bad 


114         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

road.  My  sleep,  too,  was  not  good.  I  dreamed  that 
a  hurricane  was  carrying  me  away  into  the  air.  I  as- 
sembled all  my  strength  to  resist  the  fury  of  the  winds ; 
but  their  whirlings  tore  my  clothes  from  me  one  by  one, 
and  large  drops  of  rain  froze  my  naked  body. 

My  tranquillity  left  me.  My  open  door  gave  me  a 
constant  anxiety,  and  to  prevent  myself  from  being 
overcome  by  the  vexation  of  it,  I  decided  to  look  for 
work  while  waiting  for  the  return  of  Mme.  Dalignac. 

Each  morning  I  went  to  the  places  where  I  knew 
there  would  be  notices  up.  I  met  young  women  there 
who,  like  me,  had  hollow  cheeks  and  shabby  clothes. 
Young  women  with  children  in  their  arms  also  came. 
The  little  ones  scratched  at  the  dirty  papers,  and  stuffed 
bits  of  them  into  their  mouths. 

Sometimes  an  urchin  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  stopped 
as  he  passed.  He  smiled  at  the  young  mothers,  and 
looked  boldly  at  the  girls.  Then  he  tiptoed  to  write 
with  a  blue  pencil  on  the  white  part  of  the  notices,  and 
he  went  off  with  his  hands  in  his  pocket  and  dragging 
his  feet  along  the  pavement.  And  behind  him  you 
could  read  — 

"  WANTED 
A  good  Sempstress  for  Adam's  Costume." 

The  young  mothers  laughed  noisily  and  went  away, 
dancing  their  chubby  babies  at  the  end  of  their  arms. 

Before  the  notices  at  Saint-Denis  Gate,  I  found  the 
pretty  chambermaid  with  bonnet  and  white  apron.  She 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         115 

was  watching  for  workgirls,  and  she  spoke  to  them  as 
if  she  had  situations  to  offer  them.  Some  of  them 
looked  at  her  distrustfully,  and  went  off  without  listen- 
ing to  her,  while  others  appeared  to  be  delighted  with 
what  she  proposed. 

I  saw  her  come  up  to  me  with  some  fear.  I  thought 
of  the  looks  of  those  who  had  not  allowed  themselves 
to  be  approached,  and  I  wanted  to  run  after  them  to 
escape  her. 

She  said  to  me  amiably,  "  My  mistress  has  work  for 
all  young  women.  She  is  not  exacting,  and  pays  very 
well." 

I  felt  reassured,  but  I  remembered  Bouledogue's 
rough  hands,  and  I  asked,  "  Is  it  work  that  ruins  the 
hands?" 

Her  laughter  at  this  shocked  me,  and  I  explained 
timidly,  "  I  am  a  sempstress,  and  I  don't  want  to  go 
into  a  factory." 

"  Just  the  thing,"  she  said ;  "  it  so  happens  that  my 
mistress  needs  a  sempstress." 

The  dimples  in  her  cheeks  became  deeper,  as  though 
she  were  repressing  a  desire  to  laugh.  However,  she 
became  serious  as  she  pulled  from  her  pocket  a  visiting- 
card.  Brit  before  handing  it  to  me,  she  asked  hastily, 
as  if  she  had  forgotten  to  put  the  question  sooner, 
"  You're  not  married,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  sharp  look  which  she  gave  me  brought  back  all 
my  fears,  and  I  replied,  "  Yes." 

She  insisted :     "  Really  married  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


116        MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

I  replied  so  quickly  that  I  astonished  myself,  but  at 
the  same  time  I  experienced  the  kind  of  pleasure  that 
one  feels  after  having  jumped  aside  to  avoid  being 
knocked  down  by  a  cab. 

The  pretty  woman's  eyes  searched  my  face ;  then  they 
descended  to  the  thin  circle  of  gold  which  I  wore  on 
my  left  hand,  and,  when  she  raised  them,  they  were 
filled  with  a  profound  contempt  for  the  whole  of  my 
person.  She  put  the  card  back  into  the  pocket  of  her 
apron,  and  went  after  another  young  woman. 

While  I  was  returning  slowly  through  the  streets, 
Clement's  image  seemed  to  walk  before  me.  I  had 
thought  of  him  when  replying  that  I  was  married,  and 
now  his  firm  shoulders  seemed  to  me  like  something 
against  which  I  could  lean  in  all  security.  His  last 
words  came  back  to  my  memory :  "  I'm  not  a  bad  sort, 
and  you  aren't  happy  either." 

Then  it  was  his  strong  voice  on  the  day  of  the  dinner 
which  came  singing  into  my  ears.  The  beginning  of 
one  verse  haunted  me  especially  — 

"Je  voulus  panser  sa  blessure, 
J'ouvrig   son   uniforme  blanc." x 

No,  he  could  not  be  a  bad  sort,  and  he  had  grown  up 
with  Mme.  Dalignac. 

As  I  climbed  the  stairs  once  more,  Mile.  Herminie's 
words  whirled  through  my  mind :  "  You  become  like 
something  dead,  and  the  others  drift  away  from  you." 

i "  I  wanted  to  stanch  his  wound,  I  opened  his  white  uniform." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         117 

She  was  waiting  for  me  as  she  did  every  day.  Her 
affectionate  smile  and  her  pure  eyes  made  me  forget 
the  coarse  laughter  and  the  piercing  eyes  of  the  pretty 
chambermaid,  and  I  could  not  explain  my  fears  regard- 
ing her. 

Nor  did  Mile.  Herminie  understand  my  mistrust,  and 
we  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day  regretting  that  mis- 
tress who  was  not  exacting  and  who  paid  well. 

On  the  following  day  I  found  work  with  a  woman 
who  made  children's  clothes.  She  gave  the  small 
dresses  to  workgirls  who  had  a  sewing-machine  at  home, 
but  she  insisted  on  having  a  domiciliary  certificate 
signed  by  the  magistrate. 

I  returned  joyously,  although  I  had  neither  certificate 
nor  sewing-machine.  I  knew  that  Mme.  Dalignac 
would  not  refuse  to  lend  me  the  one  in  the  workshop. 
And  to  celebrate  the  good  news,  I  prepared  a  lovely 
milk  soup  for  our  dinner. 


XI 

INSTEAD  of  the  reply  which  I  was  expecting  from 
Mme.  Dalignac,  she  came  herself.  Her  face  still  bore 
its  look  of  great  kindness,  but  her  forehead  seemed 
heavy  and  full  of  dark  thoughts. 

She  intended  to  leave  her  husband  in  the  Pyrenees 
until  he  had  recovered,  but  for  that  money  was  neces- 
sary, and  she  had  returned  to  earn  it. 

You  would  have  said  that  it  was  she  who  wanted  to 
borrow  the  sewing-machine.  She  put  her  feet  together 
and  pressed  her  elbows  into  her  side,  as  if  she  feared 
that  she  was  taking  up  too  much  room,  and  there  was 
great  timidity  in  her  voice  when  she  said  to  me,  "  You 
can  come  and  sit  in  the  workroom,  if  you  like.  I'll 
work  with  you  while  waiting  for  orders  from  my  cus- 
tomers." 

On  the  following  morning  we  started.  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac had  no  idea  of  the  work  of  making  cheap  goods, 
and  her  astonishment  was  great  when  she  saw  me  sew- 
ing a  small  dress  entirely  with  the  machine,  without 
basting  and  without  preparation  of  any  sort;  but  her 
astonishment  almost  turned  into  fright  when  she  saw 
that  my  day's  earnings  did  not  exceed  two  francs. 

It  was  no  surprise  to  me.     On  my  arrival  in  Paris 

I  had  to  earn  my  living  at  all  costs,  and  I  had  to  accept 

118 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         119 

any  kind  of  needlework  that  offered.  It  was  by  making 
clothes  for  the  large  shops  that  I  had  hecome  a  skillful 
machinist,  but,  whether  the  clothes  were  men's,  women's 
or  children's,  my  earnings  had  always  been  the  same. 

I  explained  these  things  to  Mme.  Dalignac.  I  told 
her  how  certain  mistresses  earned  large  profits  by  hav- 
ing made  on  homework  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  gar- 
ments. I  pointed  out  to  her  the  firms  in  the  Rue  du 
Sentier  where  you  took  your  models,  and  whence  you 
brought  away  material  by  the  truckful  if  your  model 
was  a  success. 

She  listened  to  me  attentively,  and  this  new  kind  of 
work  soon  seemed  to  her  to  be  a  job  at  which  her  hus- 
band might  employ  himself  without  overmuch  fatigue. 
She  reflected  after  each  detail,  which  she  made  me  ex- 
plain precisely,  and  when  she  found  out  that  the  whole- 
sale firms  paid  on  a  fixed  date,  and  that  she  would  not 
be  obliged  to  send  in  her  invoices  an  indefinite  number 
of  times,  she  decided  to  make  a  few  pretty  models,  which 
she  carried  immediately  to  the  Rue  du  Sentier. 

She  came  back  a  little  saddened  by  the  prices  which 
had  been  offered  to  her.  However,  she  brought  back 
twelve  orders  from  the  firm  of  Quibu,  which  she  cut 
out  immediately.  And,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  we  knew 
that  our  earnings  would  be  doubled. 

This  brought  us  great  courage  and  gayety.  Mme. 
Dalignac  laughed  with  her  fresh  laughter,  and  I  seemed 
to  hear  the  patron  when  he  said,  "  She  laughs  pretty, 
does  my  wife." 

The  firm  of  Quibu  was  one  of  the  most  important 


120 

in  the  Sentier.  Its  second  order,  therefore,  was  so  big 
that  it  was  necessary  to  recall  the  old  workgirls  and 
to  take  on  new. 

Bouledogue  was  not  pleased  with  this  change.  She 
feared  for  the  delicacy  of  her  hands,  but  when  she  un- 
derstood that  piecework  would  enable  her  to  earn  more 
if  she  worked  harder,  she  stopped  growling,  and  spoke 
no  more  of  going  away  to  some  other  mistress. 

Bergeounette,  who  knew  all  the  different  kinds  of 
needlework,  gave  advice.  According  to  her,  outworkers 
often  caused  trouble,  while  work  in  the  shop  was  regular 
and  easy  to  superintend.  Only  machines  were  needed. 
She  happened  to  know  a  Jew  dealer  who  sold  them  on 
credit,  and  she  offered  to  bring  him  along. 

This  dealer  was  a  young  man  who  looked  old.  He 
glanced  at  Mme.  Dalignac,  then  sat  down,  and  begged 
her  to  state  clearly  what  she  wanted. 

And  while  each  one  of  us  held  her  peace,  we  heard, 
"  I  want  three  sewing-machines." 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  All  new." 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  I  want  time  in  which  to  pay  for  them." 

"  Yes,  madam." 

The  dealer's  voice  was  full  of  deference,  and  he  shut 
his  eyes  and  bowed  slightly  at  each  reply. 

Mme.  Dalignac  neither  inquired  the  price  of  the  ma- 
chines nor  the  conditions  of  payment.  She  only  said, 
when  the  Jew  got  up  to  depart,  "  I  shall  perhaps  not 
pay  regularly,  but  I  shall  certainly  pay." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         121 

The  dealer  raised  both  his  hands,  smiling  to  show 
his  entire  confidence,  and  before  going  out,  he  bowed 
so  low  that  a  lock  of  his  hair  fell  forward  and  swung 
like  a  tassel. 

The  machines  were  delivered  the  same  day,  and  soon 
there  were  a  dozen  girls  in  the  workshop. 

Mme.  Dalignac's  powers  were  no  longer  sufficient  for 
the  cutting  out.  I  helped  her,  and  we  often  remained 
very  late  preparing  for  the  morrow's  work.  We  also 
had  to  set  up  the  prices  to  be  paid  for  each  model. 
This  was  a  great  difficulty.  I  was  no  good  at  figures, 
any  more  than  Mme.  Dalignac,  and  we  got  so  mixed  up 
with  our  calculations  that  we  laughed  long  and  loud 
at  our  clumsiness.  Mme.  Dalignac  sometimes  became 
discouraged,  and  said,  "  Ah !  if  my  husband  were  here !  " 
Finally,  after  a  considerable  number  of  attempts,  the 
prices  were  fixed,  and  the  book  of  references  became 
clear  and  easy  to  consult. 

Mme.  Double  arrived,  as  her  habit  was,  towards  the 
end  of  September.  She  became  red  on  entering,  and 
her  black  eyes  were  brilliant  with  anger.  She  had 
just  met  Duretour  below,  who  had  told  her  impolitely 
that  we  should  no  longer  be  making  fashionable  dresses. 

At  sight  of  her,  a  little  bar  furrowed  Mme.  Dalignac's 
forehead  above  her  eyebrows.  However,  she  made  her 
welcome,  and  spoke  to  her  with  her  usual  mildness. 
There  was  a  trembling  in  Mme.  Double's  voice,  and  her 
eyes  shifted  as  if  she  were  pursuing  something  that  tried 
to  escape  them. 

She  made  a  sudden  step  which  brought  her  much  too 


122         MAKIE  CLAIKE'S  WOEKSHOP 

near  her  sister-in-law,  and  her  trembling  voice  asked, 
"  Eh  be !  And  what  about  me  ?  " 

Mme.  Dalignac  retreated  a  little.  Her  face  took 
on  that  air  of  suffering  it  had  always  when  she  yielded 
to  others,  and  she  replied,  "  I'll  try  to  make  you  some 
models." 

And  when  Mme.  Double  had  departed,  she  remained 
a  long  time  leaning  on  the  table  while  her  hand  traced 
lines  and  squares  mechanically  with  the  French  chalk. 

The  patron  knew  nothing  of  the  transformation  of 
the  workshop.  His  wife  intended  to  inform  him  of 
it  later,  in  order  not  to  disturb  his  repose;  but,  a  few 
days  after  Mme.  Double's  visit,  he  turned  up  without 
warning. 

He  had  no  strength,  and  could  hardly  stand  up.  And, 
as  Mme.  Dalignac  was  overwrought  with  anxiety,  he 
showed  her  a  letter  from  his  sister.  It  was  not  long 
before  his  confidence  returned.  He  quickly  understood 
the  new  organization,  and  he  himself  put  away  his  em- 
broidering machine  at  the  end  of  the  shop. 

The  work  went  on  well,  but  the  old-time  intimacy 
no  longer  existed.  Each  moment  there  were  disputes 
or  noisy  laughter,  which  the  patron  could  not  stop. 
And  most  of  the  new  girls  made  it  clearly  understood 
that  they  would  not  come  back  on  the  following  day  if 
they  were  troubled  with  remonstrances.  Some  of  them 
did  not  scruple  to  make  fun  of  the  patron  s  accent.  As 
he  said  crante  instead  of  quarante  (forty),  they  often 
confused  it  with  trente  (thirty),  and  this  caused  errors 
in  the  measurements.  Therefore,  you  suddenly  heard 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WOEKSHOP         123 

a  bold  voice  asking,  "  Patron,  how  many  centimeters  to 
the  shoulders  of  the  blue  dress  ?  " 

"  Crante,"  replied  the  patron. 

And  the  bold  voice  went  on,  "  Does  it  take  a  three 
or  a  four,  your  figure  ?  " 

He  dared  not  be  angry,  but  he  said  to  his  wife, 
"  They're  a  little  too  free." 

At  the  time  of  the  deliveries  we  were  all  taken  with 
a  kind  of  insanity.  The  patron  hastily  verified  the 
labels,  and  passed  the  garments  to  Duretour,  who  did 
them  up  in  parcels. 

It  happened  that  one  of  the  Samaritaine's  labels  was 
sewn  to  a  mantle  for  the  Printemps.  Then  there  were 
deafening  recriminations  and  protestations.  Kobody 
acknowledged  the  mistake,  and  Duretour,  who  liked 
threading  needles  less  and  less,  was  obliged  to  put  the 
mistake  right. 

It  happened  also  that  a  button  came  off  merely  by 
shaking  the  garment.  The  patron  then  tried  to  domi- 
nate the  noise  by  shouting  half  annoyed,  "  At  least, 
ladies,  sew  them  on  so  that  they  hold  from  here  to  the 
shop." 

These  hours  of  noisy  activity  pleased  him.  Amid 
the  general  bustle  he  seemed  to  recover  his  strength. 
But  the  moment  Duretour  left  in  a  cab  overflowing  with 
parcels,  he  fell  back  into  his  easy  chair  and  stirred  no 
more. 

The  wool  dust  made  Mme.  Dalignac  anxious  for  him. 
She  would  have  liked  him  to  return  to  the  Pyrenees, 
but  he  refused  to  listen. 


"  I  don't  want  to  leave  you,"  he  said. 

To  M .  Bon,  who  gave  him  the  same  advice,  he  replied 
with  an  obstinate  air,  "  No,  I  tell  you."  And  with 
his  eyes  he  continued  to  follow  his  wife,  whose  enor- 
mous shears  grated  and  cut  without  respite  into  the 
thickness  of  the  materials. 

Among  the  new  workgirls,  there  was  Gabielle.  She 
pronounced  her  name  in  this  way,  and  nobody  thought 
of  calling  her  Gabrielle.  She  was  a  fine  large  woman, 
who  laughed  at  everything  and  who  drove  her  machine 
at  a  high  speed.  She  had  a  thick  skin  and  a  large 
nose,  but  her  teeth  were  so  white  and  her  lips  so  fresh, 
that  you  quickly  forgot  the  rest  of  her  face.  She  kept 
her  arms  bare  to  the  elbows,  and  her  blouse  was  always 
open  at  the  neck. 

She  came  from  the  Ardennes,  and  was  not  much  more 
than  eighteen  years  of  age.  She  had  just  left  her  par- 
ents, as  the  result  of  a  scene  with  them  which  made  her 
laugh  until  the  tears  came  every  time  she  spoke  about  it. 

They  wanted  to  marry  her  to  a  neighbor  whom  she 
did  not  like,  and,  by  taking  her  on  one  side,  each  had 
tried  to  persuade  her.  But  one  Sunday  her  father  and 
her  mother  began  to  talk  to  her  together.  Her  mother 
praised  the  qualities  of  the  groom,  and  predicted  a 
happiness  exactly  similar  to  hers  since  her  marriage. 
And  as  Gabielle  continued  obstinately  to  reply  that 
she  did  not  love  the  neighbor,  her  father  said  to  her  with 
a  kiss,  "  That  doesn't  matter,  little  girl.  Look  at  me. 
I  married  your  mother  because  she  was  steady  and  had 
a  littlo  money,  but  I  didn't  love  her."  Whereupon 


125 

Gabielle  saw  her  mother  rear  up  to  her  father,  and 
shout,  "  Ha !  You  didn't  love  me  ? " 

And  she  had  seen  her  turn  in  the  same  breath  to  take 
up  a  broomstick.  "  Ha !  You  didn't  love  me.  .  .  . 
You  wicked  man."  And  at  the  memory  of  her  father 
taking  flight,  Gabielle  laughed,  opening  her  mouth  so 
wide  that  you  could  see  the  bottom  of  her  throat  like  a 
pink  flower. 

She,  too,  loved  dancing.  Hearing  some  talk  of  a 
ball  where  Bouledogue  was  promising  herself  to  dance 
a  whole  afternoon,  she  became  restless  to  such  an  extent 
that  she  could  not  remain  in  her  place.  In  her  part 
of  the  country,  she  went  to  a  dance  every  Sunday,  and 
her  parents  had  never  said  a  word  against  it.  Her 
mother  even  accompanied  her  from  time  to  time,  simply 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  jumping  about.  Boule- 
dogue saw  no  harm  in  it  either,  and  she  offered  no  objec- 
tions to  taking  her  to  the  Bal  Bullier  on  the  following 
Sunday. 

Unlike  Bouledogue,  who  never  stayed  away  from  the 
workshop,  even  when  she  had  danced  all  night,  Gabielle 
did  not  come  to  work  on  the  following  day.  She  became 
a  little  confused  in  her  explanations,  and  the  look  Boule- 
dogue gave  her  made  her  blush  and  work  her  machine 
at  full  speed. 

We  learned  that  at  this  dance  everything  had  gone 
well  at  first.  While  the  two  cousins  went  round  to- 
gether in  high  spirits,  Gabielle,  laughing  and  wholly 
given  to  the  joy  of  the  occasion,  passed  fearlessly  from 
one  dancer  to  another.  But  at  the  hour  of  leaving,  she 


126         MA1UE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP 

had  plainly  refused  to  follow  Bouledogue,  saying  that 
she  could  get  home  alone  quite  well. 

My  old  neighbor  had  also  become  my  workshop  com- 
panion. Her  age  and  her  weakness  had  moved  Mme. 
Dalignac  to  such  pity  that  she  had  undertaken  to  employ 
her  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  without  giving  a 
thought  to  the  work  she  might  be  able  to  do  or  to  the 
hours  she  would  miss.  Her  arrival  had  brought  with 
it  a  certain  amount  of  discontent  among  the  others,  and 
we  had  to  install  her  in  the  cutting-room,  where  she 
added  to  the  general  encumberment. 

The  patron  did  not  look  on  the  poor  old  woman  with 
a  favorable  eye  any  more  than  the  workers.  And  Dure- 
tour,  who  ordinarily  troubled  herself  about  nobody,  said 
to  me,  with  a  grimace,  "  That's  a  fine  idea  to  bring 
here  a  woman  of  the  back  ages." 

However,  it  was  not  long  before  Mile.  Herminie  had 
won  the  sympathy  of  everybody.  Her  abrupt  frank- 
ness and  the  tone  of  equality  which  she  used  to  all  soon 
pleased  the  patron,  and  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
others,  who  brought  her  back  into  the  workshop  like  a 
young  comrade.  Her  unexpected  comparisons  and  her 
stories  full  of  exaggeration  astonished  and  amused. 

Her  voice  was  so  familiar  to  me  that,  for  the  most 
part,  I  paid  no  attention  to  what  she  was  saying.  But 
when  I  saw  the  patron  come  up  to  listen,  I  too  lent 
my  ear. 

One  day  I  heard,  "  When  we  got  to  the  vine,  the 
lads  offered  their  hands  to  the  girls  to  help  them  get 
down  from  the  cart,  but,  as  I  never  did  anything  like 


MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         127 

the  others,  I  refused  a  hand,  and  .  .  .  fr-r-out.  ...  I 
jumped,  like  a  swallow.  My  pink  dress  caught  in  the 
footstep,  and  bang  ...  I  fell  on  my  face,  and  remained 
as  though  dead.  They  picked  me  up  with  my  face  split 
from  the  eye  to  the  chin,  and  two  soldiers  who  were 
passing  by  took  me  home  to  my  parents." 

The  patron  laughed  and  looked  for  the  scar  on  the 
face,  but  it  only  existed  in  Mile.  Herminie's  imagina- 
tion. 

We  spent  Sundays  together  in  my  room,  as  in  the 
past  days  of  the  holidays.  The  staircase  was  still  full 
of  the  smells  of  cooking,  but  the  smell  of  our  own  meals 
mingled  therewith,  and  we  no  longer  tried  to  guess  the 
names  of  the  dishes  nor  the  quality  of  the  wines  that 
others  drank.  Mile.  Herminie  now  ate  the  whole  of 
her  cutlet,  and,  when  she  had  sipped  her  cup  of  hot 
coffee,  she  no  longer  worried  about  the  future. 

At  the  same  time  as  Gabielle,  we  had  acquired  Mme. 
Felicite  Damoure.  Her  two  names  seemed  so  funny 
to  the  patron  that  he  would  not  separate  them.1 

She  was  a  little,  dark,  withered  woman,  and  although 
she  was  still  very  young  her  voice  was  like  an  old 
woman's.  When  there  was  a  dispute,  she  shouted  louder 
than  anybody,  and  always  said  ridiculous  things.  . 

On  the  day  of  her  arrival,  the  patron  had  said  to  us, 
"  She's  from  the  south,  but  not  my  part." 

i  The  point  is  in  the  pronunciation.  Felicite  Damoure  is  pro- 
nounced in  the  same  way  as  Felicitfe  d' Amour  ( "  felicity  of 
love  " ) . 


128         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Her  curious  phraseology  made  us  laugh.  She  said, 
"  I've  lost  myself  the  thimble.  Yet,  I  had  put  it  in 
my  pocket." 

But  what  drew  upon  her  especially  the  mockery  of 
the  others,  was  her  immoderate  confidence  in  herb-tea. 
She  consumed  an  extraordinary  number  of  plants  which 
she  called  her  little  herbs.  To  believe  her,  since  she 
had  married  her  husband  three  years  before,  she  had 
saved  him  from  death  more  than  twenty  times  by  mak- 
ing him  drink  herb-tea  at  all  his  meals. 

"  Is  he  often  ill  ? "  asked  Mine.  Dalignac. 

To  our  astonishment,  Felicite  Damoure  replied  calmly 
through  her  nose,  "  Oh,  no !  He's  a  strong  man,  who's 
never  yet  been  ill." 

Her  entry  of  a  morning  never  passed  unnoticed.  In- 
stead of  the  ordinary  and  discreet  Good-morning  of 
everybody  else,  she  let  her  faded  voice  drag  out  with, 
"  Eh !  adieu,  ladies !  " 

Sometimes  Bergeounette  imitated  her  in  a  shrill, 
disconsolate  voice,  "  Eh !  adieu,  ladies !  " 

Gabielle  burst  out  laughing,  and  the  patron,  whom  it 
amused,  said,  shrugging  a  shoulder,  "  Lord !  how  stupid 
Bergeounette  is !  " 

In  December,  the  dead-season  returned,  but  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  models  gave  enough  work  to  keep  the  old 
girls  occupied.  Moreover,  every  time  the  cold  in- 
creased, urgent  orders  would  reach  us.  Duretour  then 
hastily  went  and  found  the  new-comers,  and  the  new 
machines  became  noisy  again. 

Some  days  before  Christmas,  a  hard  frost  brought  us 


MAKIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         129 

a  series  of  mantles  which  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
to  deliver  immediately.  But  Duretour  went  on  her 
search  in  vain;  she  only  returned  with  Gabielle  and 
Felicite  Damoure.  The  others  were  occupied  elsewhere, 
or  would  not  allow  themselves  to  be  disturbed.  A  great 
anxiety  filled  us  all.  The  mantles  were  sold  in  ad- 
vance. The  labels  which  Duretour  had  brought  back 
were  proof  of  that.  And  if  the  firm  of  Quibu  could 
not  deliver  them  in  time,  there  would  be  unpleasantness 
for  it  and  for  us. 

Even  Bouledogue  understood  this,  and  everybody  de- 
cided to  work  overtime  to  finish  as  quickly  as  possible. 

On  the  first  two  evenings  all  went  well,  but  on  the 
third,  after  the  day's  work,  every  one  showed  discon- 
tent at  being  obliged  to  come  back  and  spend  the  night 
of  Christmas  Eve  in  the  workshop.  The  patron  prom- 
ised oranges  and  hot  wine,  but  his  wife  did  not  hide 
her  fears  for  this  last  evening. 

However,  towards  nine  o'clock  the  girls  came  up  one 
after  the  other.  Duretour  could  not  manage  to  put  a 
scowl  on  her  pretty  face,  in  spite  of  her  annoyance  at 
not  spending  Christmas  Eve  with  her  sweetheart's 
family. 

Roberto  and  Felicite  Damoure  arrived  together 
doubled  up  with  the  cold.  Then  came  Gabielle,  her 
hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  jacket,  and  breathing  as 
though  she  were  too  hot.  Bouledogue  entered  with  her 
nose  wrinkled  up  and  her  teeth  showing.  And  last  of 
all  as  ever,  Bergeounette  rushed  in  with  her  turbu- 
lence and  her  flitter-brained  air. 


130 

When  Mme.  Dalignac  had  pushed  the  lamps  back- 
wards or  forwards  to  the  satisfaction  of  all,  the  work 
went  on  in  silence.  The  rumbling  of  carts  came  up 
from  the  avenue,  and  the  trams  grated  on  their  rails. 
Troops  of  young  people  came  down  from  Montrouge 
singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  And  during  the 
minutes  of  calm,  you  could  hear  the  starting  of  a  cab, 
one  of  the  wheels  of  which  rasped  the  curb  of  the  pave- 
ment, while  the  laughter  of  women  mingled  with  the 
sharp  cracked  sound  of  the  horses'  hoofs. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  we  paid  more  attention  to 
the  noises  from  outside.  From  time  to  time,  one  of 
us  allowed  a  heavy  sigh  to  escape  from  her,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  say  whether  the  sigh  was  full  of  regret 
for  the  festival  outside  or  whether  it  was  caused  by  the 
fatigue  of  overwork. 

A  little  before  midnight,  Bergeounette  began  to  sing 
a  kind  of  slow  chant,  as  sad  as  a  lamentation.  Imme- 
diately, Duretour  began  to  make  fun  of  it. 

"  That's  a  gay  song  for  Christmas  Eve,"  she  said. 

"  It's  an  old  carol  my  mother  sang  when  I  was  little," 
replied  Bergeounette.  She  added,  moving  her  whole 
body  about  as  was  her  custom,  "  It's  the  story  of  Jo- 
seph and  Mary  at  Bethlehem."  And  forthwith  she  be- 
gan— 

"  Aliens,  chere  Marie, 
Devers  cet  horloger. 
C'est  une  hotellerie, 
Nous  y  pourrons  loger."  x 

i  "  Come,  dear  Mary,  to  that  clockmaker's.  It  is  a  hostelry, 
and  we  can  lodge  there." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP          131 

And  Bergeounette's  voice  suddenly  became  very 
gentle,  as  Mary's  must  have  been,  replying  — 

"La  maison  est  bien  grande, 
Et  semble  ouverte  a  tons. 
Neanmoins  j'apprehende 
Qu'elle  ne  le  soit  pour  nous.1 

Gabielle  perceived  that  she  was  losing  time  listening 
to  the  carol.  She  made  her  machine  roar,  and  Joseph's 
words,  asking  asylum  for  his  wife,  were  almost  muffled 
by  the  noise.  However,  you  could  hear  an  irritated 
voice  saying  • — 

"  Les  gens  de  votre  sorte, 
Ne  logent  pas  ceans. 
Frappez  a  1'autre  porte, 
C'est  pour  les  pauvres  gens."  2 

Through  the  noise  of  the  machine,  we  followed  Joseph 
and  Mary  going  from  door  to  door,  and  receiving  noth- 
ing but  refusals  and  often  insults. 

The  master  of  the  Grand  Dauphin  had  "  neither  bed 
nor  cover,"  and  M.  La  Rose-Rouge  offered  Mary  a  corner 
on  the  straw  with  the  grooms.  Finally,  a  woman  took 
pity  on  Mary ;  she  said  with  surprise  — 

"  Vous  paraissez  enceinte 
Et  prete  d'accoucher."  3 

i "  The  house  is  very  large,  and  seems  open  to  all.  Neverthe- 
less, I  fear  that  it  is  not  so  for  us." 

2  "  People  of  your  sort  do  not  lodge  here.     Knock  at  the  other 
door;   that  is  for  poor  people." 

3  "  You  seem  to  be  with  child  and  about  to  give  it  birth." 


132         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 
And  Mary,  tired  and  resigned,  replied  - 

"  Je  n'attends  plus  que  1'heure, 
Non  plus  que  le  moment. 
Et  ainsi  je  demeure 
A  la  merci  des  gens."  1 

But  from  the  end  of  a  passage,  a  man  called  for  the 
"  chatterer,"  who  was  lingering  at  the  door,  and  the 
woman  went  back  into  the  house  regretfully,  saying  — 

"  C'est  mon   mari   qui   crie, 
H  f  aut  nous  separer."  2 

The  sewing-machine  had  stopped.  All  the  girls  were 
silent,  and  for  one  long  moment,  you  could  hear  nothing 
hut  the  noise  of  the  thimbles  against  the  needles,  and  the 
soft,  warm  rubbing  of  fur  against  material. 

Bergeounette's  dark  face  had  lost  a  little  of  its  hard- 
ness, when  she  said  in  the  silence :  "  Now  Joseph  and 
Mary  are  going  towards  the  stable." 

The  sewing-machine  began  once  more  to  roar.  The 
beating  of  its  treadle  made  you  think  of  a  dog  barking 
furiously  at  poor  people  passing  too  close  to  a  well- 
guarded  house.  The  barking  diminished,  to  begin 
again  the  moment  afterwards,  and  Bergeounette  looked 
constantly  towards  the  window,  as  if  she  hoped  to  see 
Joseph  and  Mary  passing. 

Outside,  the  rolling  of  carts  was  becoming  less  and 
less.  On  the  avenue,  there  was  now  the  tramp  of  groups 

i "  I  await  but  the  hour,  I  await  but  the  moment.  And  thus 
I  remain  at  the  mercy  of  people." 

2  "  It  is  my  husband  calling.     We  must  separate." 


MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         133 

returning  from  midnight  mass.     And  suddenly  two  dis- 
cordant voices  rang  out  singing  — 

"He  is  born,  the  Divine  Child." 

Gabielle  began  to  laugh.  Every  face  took  on  an  air 
of  content,  as  at  the  announcement  of  a  great  joy,  and 
soon  the  workshop  was  full  of  chatter  and  song. 

Nearly  every  one  had  a  carol  somewhere  at  the  bot- 
tom of  her  memory.  The  great  voice  of  Bouledogue 
sang  a  childish  air  which  she  had  learned  at  school, 
and  nobody  made  fun  of  the  one  Roberte  intoned  in 
an  altogether  ridiculous  manner. 

Mme.  Dalignac's  gentle  voice  also  rose,  and  I  myself 
remembered  a  carol  in  which  the  shepherds  of  Sologne 
left  their  flock,  to  take  presents  to  the  Divine  Child  — 

"  Sylvain  lui  porte  un  agnelet, 
Son  petit-fils,  un  pot  de  lait 
Et  deux  moineaux  dans  une  cage. 
Robin  lui  porte  du  gateau, 
Pierrot  lui  porte  du  f  romage 
Et  le  gros  Jean,  un  petit  veau."  i 

Night  was  very  advanced  when  the  garments  were 
finished,  but  nobody  made  remark  of  it.  The  stools 
were  put  away  in  good  humor,  and  the  descent  of  the 
stairs  was  full  of  laughter. 

A  sharp  cold  surprised  us  below.  The  moon,  high 
and  brilliant,  brightened  the  avenue,  as  if  somebody 

i "  Sylvain  takes  him  a  lambkin,  his  grandson  a  jug  of  milk 
and  two  sparrows  in  a  cage.  Robin  takes  him  some  cake,  Pierrot 
takes  him  some  cheese,  and  fat  John  a  little  calf." 


134 

had  lit  it  expressly  for  this  night  of  festival.  And  to 
finish  the  night,  Duretour  carried  us  away  into  a  joyous 
round,  singing  in  her  falsetto  voice  the  last  words  of 
my  carol  — 

"  Et  nos  troupeaux,   laissons-les-la. 
Et  nos   troupeaux,   laissons-les-la." x 

i "  And  our  flocks,  let  us  leave  them  behind." 


XII 

SINCE  the  day  when  Clement  had  entered  my  little 
room,  my  old  neighbor  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the 
vines  of  her  country,  and  only  to  remember  her  unhappy 
love-affair.  She  spoke  of  it  as  of  a  recent  happening, 
and  when  I  chanced  to  look  up  at  her,  I  was  always 
astonished  to  find  her  old. 

She  remembered  absolutely  nothing  of  her  childhood. 
All  her  troubles  and  all  her  joys  dated  from  the  age  of 
eighteen,  as  if  life  had  really  not  begun  for  her  except 
at  that  age. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  love  had  entered  her 
heart.  It  had  penetrated  so  deeply  that  nothing  had 
been  able  to  drive  it  away,  and  I  perceived  it  like  a 
mysterious  fire  that  ceaselessly  warmed  her,  and  pre- 
vented her  lips  from  withering. 

At  the  beginning  of  her  confidences,  she  had  put  a 
touch  of  bitterness  into  her  accent,  saying,  "  He  saw  us 
so  prettily  dressed,  my  sister  and  me,  that  he  imagined 
we  were  rich;  but  when  he  learned  that  our  parents 
would  not  give  us  as  much  as  one  gold  piece  on  our  mar- 
riage, he  turned  away  from  me  to  marry  another." 

Her  state  of  exaltation  increased  with  the  idea  that 
I  might  one  day  become  Clement's  wife.  At  the  work- 
shop she  was  on  the  watch  for  everything  that  Mme. 

135 


136         MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Dalignac  might  say  about  her  nephew.  And  in  the 
evening  she  did  not  always  wait  until  we  arrived  home 
to  repeat  to  me  that  she  desired  this  marriage  with  all 
her  heart.  She  made  projects  for  the  future  on  this 
basis,  and  if  I  happened  to  laugh  at  them,  she  got  an- 
noyed. Then  she  appeared  to  forget  that  it  was  my 
future  and  not  hers,  and  soon  she  spoke  of  the  marriage 
as  of  a  happiness  that  was  due  to  her. 

On  this  Christmas  Day  our  house  resembled  an  open 
cage.  The  children  escaped  from  it  with  joyous  cries, 
and  the  calls  of  the  parents  were  lost  in  the  continual 
clatter  of  feet  on  the  stairs. 

For  everybody  it  was  a  fine  holiday,  but  for  Mile. 
Herminie  it  was  in  especial  a  day  of  fine  memories. 

The  Christmas  Day  on  which  she  h^d  seen  her  sweet- 
heart in  his  parents'  house  was  just  like  this  one,  and, 
just  as  to-day,  the  children  were  joyously  beating  drums 
and  blowing  lustily  on  tin  trumpets.  Our  carefully 
prepared  meal  left  her  almost  indifferent,  she  had  so 
many  things  to  say. 

I  listened  to  her  talking.  A  sort  of  youth  put  red 
into  her  cheeks  and  her  wrinkles  seemed  less  deep. 
Yet,  when  she  had  described  at  length  the  joy  of  that 
far-off  day,  she  brought  my  thoughts  back  to  Clement. 

We  knew  from  Mme.  Dalignac  that  he  was  coming 
home  on  leave  during  the  holidays,  and  that  he  would 
take  advantage  of  this  leisure  to  speak  of  a  very  serious 
thing  that  would  influence  his  whole  life. 

The  patron  had  laughed  at  Clement's  letter. 


137 

"  Te !  "  he  said.  "  It's  obvious  that  he  is  going  to 
inform  you  that  he  is  in  love  with  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  and  that  he  wants  to  get  married." 

Mme.  Dalignac  had  not  replied,  but  a  fixed  look  came 
into  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  seeking  in  the  distance  the 
beautiful  young  woman  whom  her  nephew  had  chosen. 

Was  it  I,  as  he  had  assured  me  at  the  time  of  his 
visit,  and  as  Mile.  Herminie  so  ardently  desired?  A 
doubt  came  to  me.  I  had  not  seen  Clement  again,  al- 
though he  had  been  home  on  leave  several  times  since 
that  day.  And  if,  in  his  letters  to  Mme.  Dalignac,  he 
spoke  of  the  workgirls,  my  name  did  not  appear  any 
oftener  than  those  of  Duretour  and  Bergeounette.  This 
gave  me  neither  pain  nor  pleasure.  Nothing  repelled 
me  from  Clement,  but  nothing  attracted  me  to  him 
either,  and,  if  he  had  not  been  Mme.  Dalignac' s  nephew, 
I  should  have  soon  forgotten  him. 

Now  that  we  had  drawn  our  chairs  up  to  the  stove, 
Mile.  Herminie  spoke  once  more  of  her  love.  Her 
memories  escaped  one  by  one,  and  made  me  think  of 
pretty  birds  flying  round  the  room.  She  herself  took 
on  at  times  a  wonderful  form  in  my  thoughts,  so  many 
were  the  shades  of  meaning  she  put  into  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  and  so  far  from  the  present  did  she  seem. 
She  did  not  perceive  that  the  cold  entered  whistling 
beneath  the  door,  and  that  it  sought  to  bite  our  legs. 
She  did  not  hear  the  growing  anger  of  the  wind,  which 
charioted  a  hard  snow,  and  thrust  it  in  squalls  against 
the  window-pane.  And  she  did  not  see  the  darkness 
rise  around  us,  and  come  spreading  slowly  over  us. 


138         MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

She  only  looked  at  the  little  round  stove  which  reddened 
on  top.  And  when  the  cover  had  become  like  a  ball  of 
fire,  and  you  could  see  only  it  and  its  luster  on  the 
ceiling,  j\Hle.  Herminie  stopped  speaking  and  went  to 
sleep. 

I  got  up  noiselessly  and  went  to  the  window.  On 
the  brightly  lit  boulevard  there  were  groups  of  people 
hurrying  along,  laughing  and  speaking  loudly.  Their 
shadows  mingled,  trailing  at  their  feet,  and  their  um- 
brellas covered  with  snow  seemed  like  enormous  flowers, 
swaying  in  a  heavy  wind.  Above  the  roofs,  night  was 
not  yet  complete,  but  the  sky  was  so  low,  that  I  imagined 
I  could  touch  it  only  by  stretching  out  my  hand  a  little. 
And  far  away  in  the  distance,  above  the  houses,  a  fac- 
tory chimney  flung  out  a  thick  smoke  which  the  wind 
beat  down,  and  lengthened  out  towards  me,  heavy  and 
black  like  a  threat. 

A  call  from  Mile.  Herminie  brought  me  back  to  the 
stove. 

"  Don't  let  the  fire  go  out,"  she  said. 

I  lit  the  lamp  first  of  all,  and  I  perceived  the  old 
woman  quite  dwindled  and  as  though  shriveled  up 
in  her  chair.  The  red  of  her  cheeks  "had  gone,  and  her 
wrinkles  were  deeply  hollowed  at  each  corner  of  her 
mouth. 

She  was  silent  for  some  long  time:  then,  when  she 
had  pulled  her  skirts  more  closely  round  her  legs,  she 
spoke  again.  But  the  memory  containing  the  cheerful 
remembrances  had  shut,  and  the  one  which  opened  now 
contained  only  complaints  and  regrets. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         130 

I  stirred  up  the  fire,  but  in  vain  did  the  stove  redden 
its  cover  once  more;  Mile.  Herminie  remained  serious 
and  full  of  melancholy. 

Our  holidays  were  only  to  last  a  week ;  therefore,  in 
spite  of  the  bad  weather,  I  dragged  my  old  neighbor  out 
each  day  for  a  walk.  She  did  not  pay  much  attention 
to  the  things  of  the  street.  She  leaned  on  my  arm, 
and  continued  to  speak  of  her  youth,  and  when  she  found 
nothing  more  to  say  about  herself,  she  told  of  the  joys 
and  pains  of  others.  In  our  quarter  there  was  only 
the  Boulevard  Saint  Michel  that  made  her  attentive. 
She  loved  its  noisy  and  crowded  pavements,  where 
you  met  young  couples  embracing  as  they  walked 
along. 

Apart  from  this  boulevard  I  took  her  to  the  Luxem- 
bourg mostly.  On  these  winter  days,  the  garden  seemed 
to  have  become  our  property.  Passersby  crossed  it  in 
one  direction  or  another,  but  nobody  stopped  in  it. 
There  was  no  question  of  our  stopping  in  it  either.  The 
wind  that  blew  on  the  terrace  made  Mile.  Herminie 
lower  her  head,  and  cut  off  her  finest  stories  in  the 
middle.  We  walked  with  no  plan,  and  oftenest  we  did 
not  go  beyond  the  nursery,  where  the  walks  were  most 
sheltered.  At  the  side  was  the  large  wood,  a  wood  in 
which  the  trees  all  kept  the  same  distance,  and  where 
the  grass  never  grew  between  the  stones.  Everything 
was  of  a  dark  color  there;  the  benches  mingled  with 
the  earth  and  the  branches,  and  the  guignol  booth  had 
the  air  of  an  abandoned  hut.  Far  away  in  the  fog-filled 


140 

walks,  gray  forms  passed  each  other,  crossed  and  dis- 
appeared. 

In  the  nursery  the  trees  were  no  less  black,  and  on  the 
lawns  there  remained  only  a  semblance  of  verdure,  but 
the  box-trees  and  the  spindle-trees  retained  all  the  thick- 
ness of  their  summer  foliage. 

As  soon  as  we  entered,  the  sparrows  recognized  us. 
They  came  up  to  us  in  groups,  and  even  alighted  on  us 
to  take  the  bread  we  had  brought.  The  blackbirds  re- 
mained on  one  side,  and  fled  timidly  at  our  approach, 
but  the  pigeons  demanded  their  share  insistently,  and 
followed  us  like  beggars.  Like  the  benches  of  the  gar- 
den, the  birds  blended  with  the  earth.  Their  beautiful 
brilliant  colors,  their  fine  smooth  plumage  had  disap- 
peared. The  pigeons  especially  seemed  clothed  with 
tattered  wool.  They  had  lost  their  vivacity  also,  and 
hopped  chillily  around  us.  On  our  departure,  they  flew 
clumsily  to  shelter  themselves  in  a  corner  of  the 
branches.  Some  of  them  perched  on  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  and  in  the  falling  evening  they  looked  like  old 
nests  that  the  winter  wind  had  not  been  able  to  dislodge. 

Only  the  iron  chairs  scattered  here  and  there  had 
mingled  with  nothing.  They  all  resembled  each  other 
in  rust  and  wear;  but  each  remained  distinct  like  a 
living  being. 

A  few  of  them  which  had  fallen  across  the  path 
seemed  to  be  squatting  like  watch-dogs,  while  others 
which  were  lying  flat  on  their  backs  seemed  disposed  for 
a  long  sleep. 

In  the  middle  of  a  group  drawn  up  in  a  circle,  one  of 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         141 

them  sprawled  in  equilibrium  on  its  fellow,  and  swayed 
by  the  wind  made  shrill  cries  to  which  the  others  seemed 
to  listen  in  silence. 

Two  lying  face  to  face  in  the  shelter  of  a  clump  of 
bushes  had  the  appearance  of  whispering  to  one  an- 
other, while  a  third,  half-hidden  by  a  bench,  leaned  over 
them  as  if  to  surprise  their  secret. 

There  were  some  whose  attitude  it  was  so  painful  to 
see,  that  we  could  not  help  putting  them  straight. 

Many  were  solitary,  and,  as  we  passed  by,  they  took 
us  by  surprise  like  mysterious  beings.  Hidden  against 
a  tree,  they  seemed  to  lean  on  it  with  their  shoulder 
only,  and  they  raised  one  foot. 

New  Year's  Day  was  the  last  day  of  our  holiday,  but 
the  cold  became  so  great  and  the  sky  so  laden  with 
clouds  that  Mile".  Herminie  refused  to  go  out.  She 
brought  from  her  room  an  old,  dilapidated  armchair, 
which  she  had  much  trouble  in  setting  up  straight. 
Then,  when  she  had  buried  herself  in  it  to  such  an 
extent  that  she  could  not  get  out  without  help,  she  said 
very  decidedly,  "  Now,  I'm  waiting  for  my  New  Year's 
gifts." 

Her  New  Year's  gifts ! 

Our  laughter  at  this  sally  was  prolonged,  for  she  had 
no  one  from  whom  to  expect  ISTew  Year's  gifts  any  more 
than  I  had. 

To  turn  aside  the  evil  chance  of  the  new  year,  I  had 
bought  in  the  morning  a  small  bouquet  of  violets,  which 
we  had  shared  with  the  most  meticulous  care.  A  violet 
which  had  fallen  from  the  bunch  on  to  the  floor  during 


142         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

the  division  had  even  been  the  subject  of  a  long  dis- 
cussion. I  had  wanted  to  add  it  to  Mile.  Herminie's 
share,  assuring  her  that  it  represented  another  year's 
life  to  her,  but  she  had  refused  it,  saying  that  the  fallen 
flower  was  the  share  of  destiny.  And,  without  losing 
a  minute,  she  had  made  for  it  a  tiny  vase  of  paper,  and 
had  placed  it  in  the  msot  conspicuous  part  of  the  fire- 
place. 

In  spite  of  the  cold,  our  house  was  no  less  noisy  than 
on  Christmas  Day.  The  rabbit-drums,  the  bleating 
sheep  and  the  popguns  made  the  same  uproar  on  the 
staircase.  Therefore,  when  I  heard  a  knocking  at  my 
door,  I  did  not  stir,  thinking  that  a  child  had  knocked 
against  it  by  mistake,  but  the  knocks  became  stronger, 
and  I  got  up  to  open. 

It  was  Mme.  Dalignac,  a  little  out  of  breath  from 
having  climbed  the  stairs  too  rapidly. 

Before  entering  even  she  asked  me  very  quickly,  "  Is 
it  true  that  you  are  willing  to  marry  Clement  ?  " 

I  stood  dumbfounded,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  blushing 
violently. 

She  did  not  wait  a  moment,  and  went  on,  lowering 
towards  me  her  forehead,  which  was  much  above  mine. 

"  Tell  me.     Is  it  really  true  ?  " 

All  her  affection,  all  her  desire  for  the  happiness  of 
her  nephew  were  so  evident  in  the  trembling  of  her 
voice,  that  I  nodded  Yes  without  taking  my  eyes  from 
hers. 

She  gave  way  to  her  pretty  laughter  as  the  patron 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         143 

arrived,  and  said  to  him,  "You  see!  Clement  hasn't 
lied." 

The  patrons  first  smile  had  been  for  his  wife,  but 
in  the  one  he  addressed  to  me  afterwards,  there  was 
a  real  content.  Clement  also  entered  with  a  pleased 
face.  He  strutted  about  a  little  in  his  handsome  sol- 
dier's uniform,  but  his  movements  were  measured,  and 
his  eyes  rested  on  me  very  calmly. 

Mme.  Dalignac  explained,  as  she  made  her  husband 
sit  down. 

"  It  was  only  this  morning,"  she  said,  "  that  Clement 
told  us  about  you."  She  added  as  if  to  excuse  herself 
for  having  come,  "  It  was  much  too  serious ;  I  couldn't 
wait  for  your  reply  until  to-morrow." 

Clement  did  not  remain  very  long  without  saying 
anything.  In  fact,  after  a  while,  he  was  almost  the 
sole  person  who  spoke.  He  explained  slowly  and 
clearly  how  ho  intended  to  set  himself  up  and  the  work 
he  would  do,  and,  from  the  way  he  spoke  of  our  future 
household,  I  understood  that  he  had  given  lengthy  re- 
flection to  it. 

I  followed  all  he  said  without  losing  a  word.  From 
time  to  time  my  eyes  met  his,  but  the  confidence  in 
himself  which  I  met  in  them  each  time  compelled  me 
to  seek  Mme.  Dalignac's,  who  remained  somewhat  be- 
seeching and  full  of  hope. 

The  day  suddenly  lowered,  and  the  snow  began  to 
fall.  It  whirled  around  soft  and  light  like  fine  down, 
and  Mile.  Herminie  pointed  to  it,  and  said,  as  she  usu- 
ally did,  "  The  angels  are  shaking  their  wings." 


144         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Clement  did  not  waste  much  time  looking  at  the  snow. 
The  upholsterer's  shop,  with  its  brilliant  appointments 
and  its  many  customers,  of  which  he  already  saw  him- 
self the  master,  absorbed  all  his  attention.  He  told  me 
that  our  marriage  would  take  place  as  soon  as  he  re- 
turned from  his  regiment,  and  his  eyes  softened  alto- 
gether when  he  said  to  me,  as  he  rose,  "  You  will  be  very 
useful  to  me  in  my  trade,  and  I  am  certain  that  you 
will  regret  nothing." 

He  was  about  to  begin  another  phrase,  but  the  patron 
prevented  him  by  laughing,  "  Eh !  You  never  know. 
.  .  .  Don't  start  singing  so  quickly  .  .  .  then." 

Clement  laughed  with  us,  and  Mme.  Dalignac,  who 
had  risen  at  the  same  time  as  he,  stretched  out  her 
hand  and  said  to  me,  "  Believe  me,  he's  a  very  good 
boy." 

She  laughed  softly.  And  all  the  joy  that  was  in  her 
seemed  to  overflow  about  her. 

Before  leaving,  Clement  threw  a  rapid  glance  round 
on  everything,  as  if  he  were  making  an  inventory. 
Then  he  shifted  the  two  bouquets  I  had  bought  in  the 
morning,  which  he  evidently  thought  were  too  near  to- 
gether, and  after  having  smelt  the  little  solitary  violet 
he  took  it,  and  placed  it  without  more  ado  in  the  button- 
hole of  his  tunic.  He  went  out  behind  the  patron  and 
his  wife,  and,  as  on  the  day  when  he  had  come  alone, 
I  remained  a  long  while  leaning  over  the  bannisters. 

I  found  Mile.  Herminie  with  her  forehead  glued  to 
the  window  pane.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her  hands 
were  clasped  beneath  her  chin.  I  remained  silent  by 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         145 

her  side.  Before  us  the  roofs  were  beginning  to  hold 
the  snow.  The  faded  earthenware  of  the  chimneys  was 
ranged  in  lines,  and  they  seemed  to  press  one  against  the 
other  to  protect  themselves  from  the  cold.  Among  them, 
the  long  galvanized-iron  chimneys  thrust  themselves  up 
with  their  cowls,  and  turned  towards  us  obstinately  the 
entry  to  their  black  gulfs. 

Mile.  Herminie  returned  to  her  armchair  and  I  to 
the  little  bench  near  her;  yet  the  rest  of  the  evening 
found  us  often  in  disagreement.  At  bedtime,  the  poor 
old  woman  said  to  me  sadly,  "  My  New  Year's  gifts 
are  very  nice,  but  I  don't  know  whether  to  rejoice  at 
them  or  to  weep." 

That  night,  I  dreamed  that  Clement  had  made  me 
climb  into  the  seat  of  a  little  cart,  in  which  there  was 
only  room  for  one.  I  was  so  squeezed  up  between  him 
and  the  side-rack  that  I  could  hardly  breathe.  Clement 
feared  nothing.  He  held  the  reins  with  a  light  hand, 
and  let  the  horse  go  boldly  along  a  road  covered  with 
cut  wood.  The  cart  remained  upright  and  the  beast, 
held  well  in  hand,  did  not  stumble,  but  just  at  the  bend 
of  a  little  bridge,  the  road  suddenly  became  a  blind 
turning,  and  before  Clement  could  stop  his  horse,  it 
fell  heavily,  and  the  cart  was  upset.  Twice  in  succes- 
sion I  had  this  dream,  and  the  second  time  I  felt  my 
limbs  touch  the  earth  so  roughly  that  I  was  afraid  to 
go  to  sleep  again.  I  sat  up  to  escape  from  sleep,  and  I 
tried  to  recognize  the  noises  outside.  The  sounds  had 
changed.  The  voices  of  belated  passersby  came  to  me 
without  the  clatter  of  their  footsteps,  and  I  divined  the 


146         MARIE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP 

passing  of  the  cabs  without  hearing  their  rolling.  Then 
the  church  of  Xotre-Dame-des-Champs  struck  once,  and 
it  seemed  very  near  to  me  and  at  the  same  time  very 
far  from  me  as  if  the  bell  had  been  wrapped  round 
with  cloth.  Then,  to  put  an  end  to  the  anguish  which 
was  beginning  to  oppress  me,  I  jumped  out  of  bed,  and 
ran  to  the  window. 

It  was  the  snow  that  was  stifling  the  sound.  You 
could  not  see  it  fall,  but  it  spread  thick  and  white  be- 
neath the  lights.  And  quite  near  at  hand,  on  the  pave- 
ment opposite,  a  gas-lamp  made  the  flakes  floating  all 
about  it  seem  like  large  white  moths. 

I  returned  to  my  bed.  And  for  a  long  time,  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  I  followed  the  flight  of  the  angels 
who  were  shaking  their  wings  over  Paris. 

In  the  morning,  when  Mile.  Herminie  awakened  me, 
an  icy  wind  blew  over  the  town.  The  weather  had 
cleared  up,  and  thousands  of  little  white  clouds  fled 
through  the  heavens,  flying  very  high. 

Below,  a  long  line  of  men  were  attacking  the  snow 
vigorously  with  brooms,  and  all  together  they  were  push- 
ing it  towards  the  drains,  like  some  unclean  thing. 


XIII 

THE  winter  had  gone,  and  the  sun  shone  once  more 
into  the  workshop.  But  although  the  spring  made  the 
air  milder  and  loaded  the  chestnut  trees  in  the  avenue 
with  blossom,  it  seemed  to  carry  away  day  by  day  all 
the  freshness  and  all  the  gayety  of  Gabielle.  She  her- 
self understood  nothing  of  the  languidness  which  made 
her  work  so  toilsome  to  her  and  took  from  her  all  desire 
to  laugh.  Her  rosy  lips  were  colorless,  and  the  shadow 
encircling  her  eyes  made  her  cheeks  seem  still  paler. 

Every  one  of  her  companions  said  that  she  knew 
a  remedy  that  would  cure  her  gradual  fading,  and  she 
did  not  lack  advice. 

"  Drink  sage  and  the  lesser  centaury,"  shouted 
Felicite  Damoure  to  her. 

And  she  then  went  on  adding  so  many  herbs  to  those 
she  had  named  that  the  patron  amused  himself  by  mak- 
ing her  repeat  them  one  after  the  other,  on  the  pretext 
that  he  wanted  to  remember  their  names.  Bergeou- 
nette  advised  noise  and  movement  before  all.  And 
Duretour,  who  did  not  like  potions,  was  certain  that 
only  a  sweetheart  could  bring  back  the  good  health  that 
Gabielle  had  lost. 

"  Paris  doesn't  do  you  any  good,"  said  Mme.  Dalig- 
147 


148         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

nac  to  her  as  her  contribution.  And  she  urged  her  to 
return  to  her  village. 

The  patron  scolded,  "  If  she  goes  away,  you'll  lose 
your  best  machinist." 

Gabielle  acknowledged  that  Paris  did  not  do  her 
any  good.  Moreover,  she  confessed  that  she  was  afraid 
of  it,  but  she  was  determined  to  remain  another  year 
in  it.  She  intended  to  work  hard,  in  order  to  get  to- 
gether a  little  money,  which  would  prove  to  her  parents 
that  she  was  able  to  live  without  their  help,  and  reason- 
able enough  to  marry  some  one  of  her  own  choice.  How- 
ever, as  her  health  did  not  improve,  Mme.  Dalignac 
became  anxious  about  her  drawn  features,  and  obliged 
her  to  consult  M.  Bon  on  the  day  he  visited  the  patron. 
AB  she  left  her  machine  to  come  up  to  him,  M.  Bon 
looked  her  up  and  down.  He  asked  her  no  questions, 
but  skillfully  undid  the  buttons  that  scarcely  held  her 
blouse  together,  and  he  touched  one  after  the  other 
bosoms  that  you  could  guess  were  very  full  and  that 
stood  very  high  beneath  the  chemise. 

He  smiled  as  he  buttoned  up  the  blouse  once  more. 
Then  he  looked  Gabielle  full  in  the  face,  and  said,  "  It's 
not  such  a  great  hurt  when  a  fine  girl  like  you  brings 
a  child  into  the  world." 

He  inquired  her  age,  and  sent  her  off  with  a  friendly 
word,  "  Off  you  go,  young  beauty." 

And  as  Mme.  Dalignac  was  waiting,  with  her  shears 
in  the  air,  he  added  a  little  lower,  turning  towards  us, 
"  She's  five  months  gone  with  child." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         149 

Gabielle  had  immediately  taken  up  her  work  again. 
But  as  soon  as  M.  Bon  had  gone,  she  rose  and  asked 
Mme.  Dalignac,  "  What  did  he  say  was  the  matter  with 
me?" 

All  the  machines  stopped  as  if  they,  too,  were  wait- 
ing for  the  reply. 

Mine.  Dalignac  hesitated,  then  she  reddened  as  she 
replied,  "  He  says  that  you  will  soon  have  your  child." 

Gabielle  frowned,  and  stretched  out  an  ear,  as  people 
do  who  think  they  have  misheard. 

"My  child!"  she  said.  .  .  .  "What  child?" 

"  Why,  the  one  you  are  carrying.  .  .  .  You  must 
know  quite  well  that  you're  with  child." 

No,  Gabielle  did  not  know,  and  everybody  was  aware 
of  this  by  the  expression  of  fear  that  spread  over  her 
already  colorless  features.  She  passed  her  hands  over 
her  waist  several  times,  and  sat  down  suddenly.  Then 
her  face  colored,  and  she  stood  up,  saying  a  little  angrily, 
"  It's  only  wicked  girls  who  get  children,  and  I'm  not 
one." 

Bergeounette  retaliated  as  if  she  had  been  insulted. 

"  Never  mind  about  wickedness,"  she  said.  "  Your 
condition  merely  proves  you've  got  a  lover." 

Gabielle's  eyes  rested  a  moment  on  her,  then  her  lips 
parted  as  if  she  were  about  to  speak,  but  it  was  laughter 
that  came  from  them.  It  came  in  peals,  as  we  had  al- 
ways known  it,  and  almost  immediately  words  followed. 
They  were  words  laden  with  laughter  and  defiance. 

No,  she  hadn't  any  lover.     She  wasn't  so  silly.     She 


150        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

knew  too  well  that  a  girl  who  had  a  lover  might  have  a 
child,  and  that  a  girl  who  has  a  child  is  a  wicked  creature 
whom  everybody  points  at. 

Her  lover  she  would  choose  to  her  own  taste,  and 
marry  him  like  her  mother,  and  have  one  or  two  chil- 
dren, not  more,  because  you  must  first  of  all  give  them 
good  health,  and  then  give  them  the  time  to  learn  a 
good  trade,  so  that  in  turn  they  may  continue  to  live 
honestly." 

Her  hearty  laugh  burst  out  again  more  loudly,  and 
the  words  came  again  mingled  with  sneers. 

Lovers  could  come  hanging  round  her  if  they  liked: 
they  would  lose  their  time.  She  had  no  desire  to  be 
like  Marie  Minard  who  lived  in  a  wretched  hut  in  an 
out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  country,  and  whose  child 
had  become  crippled  for  want  of  care.  She,  too,  had 
been  a  sempstress  once,  but  when  her  condition  was 
known,  her  patronne  had  driven  her  out  of  the  work- 
shop. And  since  that  time  it  was  only  out  of  pure 
charity  that  the  people  of  the  countryside  employed  her 
at  the  hardest  work. 

Gabielle's  laughter  was  still  pealing  loudly,  as  she 
turned  on  her  heels  to  show  off  the  slenderness  of  her 
waist. 

She  appeared  to  be  so  sure  of  herself,  and  her  body 
had  retained  so  perfect  a  shape  that  everybody  was 
forced  to  believe  that  M.  Bon  had  made  a  mistake. 
And  as  the  machines  started  again,  Bergeounette  sang 
in  an  ironical  voice  the  song  of  the  Earthly  Paradise  — 


151 

"  Dans  cc  jardin  tout  plein  de  fleurs 

Et  de  douceur, 

Le  serpent  rencontra  la  belle, 
Et  lui  parla."  l 

Some  days  elapsed,  and  as  Gabielle  no  longer  com- 
plained her  companions  troubled  no  more  about  her. 
But  it  was  not  so  with  the  patron.  He  followed  her 
about  insistently  with  his  eyes,  and  one  evening,  just 
as  she  was  going  out,  he  stopped  her. 

"  Eh !  I  say,"  he  cried.  "  Your  belt  will  burst  very 
soon." 

He  added  mischievously,  before  Gabielle  could  find 
a  single  word  of  reply,  "  It  can  be  seen  now." 

It  was  true.  Gabielle's  waist  had  become  so  swollen 
that  it  dragged  at  her  skirt,  and  pulled  the  material 
round  to  the  front. 

Bergeounette,  who  was  at  the  door  ready  to  go  out, 
returned  quickly.  She  wore  her  belligerent  air,  and 
seemed  ready  to  defend  some  one,  but  at  the  first  look 
from  Gabielle,  she  merely  said  at  us,  "  She  owes  no 
explanation  to  anybody." 

Gabielle  was  leaning  against  the  cutting  table,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  arm,  like  an  urchin  who  fears  to  be 
struck. 

"  Don't  be  ashamed,  now,"  said  Bergeounette. 
"  Every  girl  has  a  lover."  And  very  gently  she  un- 
covered her  face. 

i  "  In  that  garden,  full  of  flowers  and  sweetness,  the  serpent 
met  the  fair  one  and  spoke  to  her." 


152         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Then  Gabielle  said,  heart-brokenly,  "  I  can  quite  see 
that  I'm  going  to  have  a  child,  but  I  don't  know  how 
it  can  be,  since  I  haven't  a  lover." 

"  Has  he  left  you  ? "  asked  Mme.  Dalignac. 

"  No." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  "  asked  Bergeounette  in  turn. 

"  No,"  replied  Gabielle  again.  Before  our  silence, 
she  went  on,  "  Nobody  will  believe  me,  and  yet  I  say 
in  all  truth:  I've  never  had  a  lover." 

Bergeounette  at  that  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What !  "  she  said.  "  You  did  the  miracle  all  by 
yourself  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gabielle.  And  she  looked  at 
us,  as  if  she  expected  enlightenment  from  us  on  her 
condition. 

Bergeounette  continued  her  jests  while  asking  the 
most  precise  of  questions.  And  still  Gabielle  replied, 
looking  like  a  lost  dog,  "  I  don't  know." 

Then,  as  the  patron  began  to  poke  fun  at  her  too,  she 
started  to  weep. 

Mme.  Dalignac's  gentle  face  became  full  of  pity. 

"  Stop  tormenting  her,"  she  said.  "  You  can  see 
that  she  doesn't  know  anything."  She  added,  passing 
her  hand  over  Gabielle's  smooth  forehead :  "  The  truth 
will  come  to  light  of  itself." 

The  truth  came  out  on  the  following  day.  Gabielle, 
who  had  taken  the  time  to  enlarge  her  waistband,  ar- 
rived late,  against  her  habit,  and  she  had  to  disturb  two 
of  her  companions  to  reach  her  place.  Her  swollen 
eyelids  and  her  way  of  passing  between  the  machines 


153 

as  if  she  feared  to  knock  against  them  told  every  one 
that  M.  Bon  had  not  been  mistaken.  There  were  ex- 
clamations and  laughter  among  the  new-comers,  and  in 
the  corner  of  the  older  girls,  Bouledogue  listened  at- 
tentively to  what  Bergeounette  was  whispering  to  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  day,  Bouledogue  stayed  behind 
to  remind  Gabielle  of  her  absence  for  a  whole  day 
after  the  Sunday  of  the  ball. 

Gabielle  had  not  forgotten  it,  for  at  the  first  words 
she  became  very  red  and  said,  "  Yes,  I'm  certain  my 
misfortune  comes  from  that." 

She  told  us  what  she  had  not  dared  to  say  before, 
so  great  had  been  her  fear  of  derision. 

She  had  no  idea  at  all  how  she  had  left  the  ball.  She 
only  remembered  that  she  had  been  very  hot,  and  that 
she  had  had  a  drink  with  her  last  dancer.  Then,  on 
the  following  day,  she  had  awakened  after  midday  in 
a  room  which  was  not  hers.  For  some  time  she  had 
tried  to  understand,  and,  not  succeeding,  she  had  called, 
but  nobody  had  come.  Then  in  a  great  fright  she  had 
dressed  herself  hastily,  and  had  fled  from  the  house 
without  looking  behind  her.  Where  was  the  house? 
What  was  the  name  of  the  street?  Gabielle  did  not 
know,  and  she  was  well  aware  that  she  would  never 
find  either  again. 

Bouledogue's  voice  scolded,  "  Your  behavior  at  the 
ball  was  scarcely  that  of  a  good  girl,  and  I  can  say 
that  it  was  shameful  to  see  the  way  you  hung  on  the 
necks  of  your  dancers." 

"  I  was  enjoying  myself  so  much,"  said  Gabielle. 


154         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Her  innocent  air  was  so  natural  that  a  light  laugh 
escaped  from  the  patron. 

On  the  other  hand,  Bouledogue  scoffed  at  her  cruelly, 
and  her  sarcasms  covered  poor  Gabielle  with  so  much 
confusion,  that  Bergeounette  took  up  her  defense  and 
turned  on  Bouledogue. 

"  You  who  are  so  clever  with  your  tongue,"  she  said, 
"  you  go  to  the  ball  so  often  that  one  of  these  days  the 
same  thing  will  happen  to  you." 

"  ]STo,"  said  Bouledogue  shortly.  And  she  blew  vio- 
lently through  her  nose  before  adding,  "  I  go  to  the 
ball  to  dance,  and  only  that." 

Work  went  on  full  swing,  and  Gabielle  made  her 
machine  roar  no  less  than  in  the  past.  She  stopped 
once,  however,  a  little  suddenly  to  ask  Bergeounette 
two  questions. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  be  confined  ?  " 

"  Certainly !  " 

"  Just  like  a  married  woman  ?  " 

"  Of  course !  Exactly  like,"  replied  Bergeounette  in 
a  jesting  voice. 

The  machine  started  once  more  at  a  pace  that  took 
some  time  to  recover  its  old  self-assurance. 

When  she  was  in  her  eighth  month,  Gabielle  began 
to  revolt.  The  anger  which  she  could  not  direct  else- 
where fell  wholly  on  the  coming  child. 

"  Look  at  the  mess  he's  making  of  me,"  she  said. 
And  she  flung  her  arms  behind  her  to  accentuate  her 


155 

deformity.  It  soon  became  impossible  to  imagine  that 
she  had  once  been  merry  and  lovable. 

She  was  now  a  woman  with  a  hard  face  and  a  dis- 
illusioned air  who  bore  her  pregnancy  as  a  frightful 
and  intolerable  evil.  During  the  day,  in  the  deafening 
noise  of  the  workshop,  she  seemed  sometimes  to  forget 
her  condition,  but,  in  the  evening,  after  the  departure 
of  the  others,  she  gave  vent  to  all  her  ill-will  against 
the  child. 

"  I  don't  want  it.  It's  not  mine,"  she  repeated  vio- 
lently. 

And  a  flood  of  imprecations  and  such  violent  threats 
against  the  innocent  child  flowed  from  her  that  the 
patron  was  offended,  and  spoke  of  making  her  hold  her 
peace.  His  wife  prevented  him. 

"  Let  her  say  her  say,"  she  said.  "  All  her  resent- 
ment will  evaporate  in  words,  and  when  her  child  is 
born  she  will  love  it." 

In  the  hope  of  appeasing  her,  Bergeounette  tried 
to  turn  her  thoughts  by  speaking  to  her  of  her  parents. 
But  this  was  worse  still,  for  regret  came  that  increased 
Gabielle's  anger. 

Since  the  adventure  of  the  ball,  before  she  had  known 
of  its  consequences,  she  had  thought  every  day  of  her 
return  to  the  Ardennes.  How  many  times  had  she 
seen  herself  arriving  at  her  parents'  home,  clad  in  a 
pretty  dress  earned  and  made  by  her  own  hands,  and 
how  she  had  felt  her  courage  doubled  thinking  of  all 
the  affection  that  awaited  her  in  her  home!  Now  she 
knew  that  she  would  never  return  to  her  village.  She 


156         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

no  longer  held  even  the  hope  of  seeing  her  parents  once 
again ;  for  she  was  certain  that  her  mother  would  deny 
her. 

"  Even  that  fine  lover  I  refused,"  she  said,  "  would 
pick  up  stones  by  the  handful  to  throw  at  me." 

At  the  idea  of  such  contempt  for  herself,  Gabielle 
flew  into  a  furious  passion,  or  wept  endlessly.  Another 
torment  still  was  added  to  her  affliction. 

In  the  street  she  could  not  bear  the  looks  of  the 
passersby,  although  Mme.  Dalignac  had  made  a  mantle 
for  her  that  covered  her  from  head  to  heel.  It  was 
soon  just  the  same  in  the  workshop,  where  she  drew 
upon  herself  the  rebukes  of  her  companions. 

Mme.  Dalignac  exhorted  everybody  to  patience,  and 
asserted  times  without  end  that  pregnancy  had  never 
disfigured  any  one.  Sometimes  even,  with  gentle  ges- 
tures, she  patted  Gabielle,  and  with  a  pretty  smile  said, 
"  As  for  me,  I  know  nothing  more  beautiful  than  a 
pregnant  woman." 

The  patron  always  backed  up  his  wife  with  the  same 
words,  and  to  put  a  stop  to  Duretour's  muted  laughter, 
he  called  out  to  her  loudly,  "  Isn't  that  true  ?  " 

And  Duretour,  her  nose  buried  in  her  parcels, 
clamored  like  a  school  urchin,  "  Yes,  sir." 


XIV 

JACQUES  came  back  as  he  used  to  do  to  the  cutting- 
room.  Sandrine's  old  neighbor  had  given  us  a  lengthy 
account  of  the  poor  boy's  torment :  his  divorce,  first  of 
all,  which  his  wife  had  easily  obtained ;  and  the  illness 
which  had  carried  off  his  mother  at  the  same  time. 
Then,  when  everything  in  Paris  had  failed  him,  he  had 
gone  to  Sandrine's  village,  where  were  his  two  little 
ones  and  their  grandmother,  from  whom  he  had  heard 
nothing  for  months.  But  there  again  everything  had 
failed  him.  Sandrine's  mother  had  not  been  able  to 
bear  her  heavy  sorrow,  and  she,  too,  had  been  taken  to 
the  cemetery.  And  to  make  his  misfortune  complete, 
as  his  children  did  not  bear  the  name  of  their  father 
and  they  had  no  relatives  left,  they  had  been  sent  to 
the  workhouse  as  deserted  children.  Now  Jacques  shut 
himself  up  each  evening  with  his  trouble  in  Sandrine's 
little  room,  where  he  had  set  up  his  home.  His  neigh- 
bor, who  felt  a  great  pity  for  him,  had  called  us  in  to 
his  aid. 

"  If  nobody  lends  him  a  helping  hand,  he  will  die 
too,"  she  said,  And  she  added  with  a  touch  of  fear, 
"  There  are  nights  when  he  weeps  like  a  madman." 

Jacques'  first  visit  had  scarcely  lasted  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  he  had  gone  away  again  more  upset  than 

157 


158         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

when  he  arrived.  However,  he  had  come  back  at  the 
end  of  a  week,  and  his  visits  now  became  more  regular. 
Sometimes  still  he  passed  by  on  the  opposite  pavement 
without  daring  to  come  up,  but  the  patron,  who  liked 
him,  was  on  the  look-out  for  him,  and  made  signs  to 
him.  This  amused  the  patron. 

"  I'm  like  Bergeounette  with  her  one-armed  man," 
he  said  to  us,  laughing. 

Jacques  did  not  want  signaling  more  than  once,  and 
soon  afterwards  his  long  body  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. As  the  days  went  by,  he  became  more  expansive, 
and  soon  he  could  speak  of  the  past  without  the  sudden 
extinction  of  his  voice. 

Mme.  Dalignac  imagined  a  thousand  ways  and 
means  which  would  permit  him  to  have  his  children 
with  him,  but  none  was  possible.  What  was  wanted 
before  all  was  a  wife  for  Jacques. 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  "  there's  no  lack  of  widowers 
who  manage  with  two  children.  But  Jacques  — 

And  her  arm,  which  she  had  raised  very  high,  re- 
mained as  if  in  suspense.  Her  thoughts  turned  as  a 
matter  of  course  towards  Gabielle,  who  was  upright  and 
brave.  She  believed  that  a  marriage  between  her  and 
Jacques  was  a  reasonable  thing,  which  would  bring 
peace  to  them  both  and  some  happiness  for  the  future. 

She  said  to  Jacques,  "  You'll  have  three  children  when 
you  start  housekeeping  together;  that's  all." 

Jacques  took  immediately  to  the  idea  of  marrying 
Gabielle.  He  thought  that  she  was  more  to  be  pitied 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         159 

than  he  even,  and  everything  that  Mme.  Dalignac  said 
to  him  seemed  just. 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  speak  to  Gabielle,  so  great  was 
her  indifference  to  Jacques'  person.  He  was  no  more 
to  her  than  a  sewing-machine  or  the  cutting-table  against 
which  she  leaned  in  her  moments  of  despair,  and  she 
had  never  troubled  herself  about  his  presence  when 
she  gave  play  to  her  anger  or  let  flow  her  tears. 

Jacques  confessed  modestly,  "  I'm  certain  that  she 
has  never  even  looked  at  me." 

To  attract  Gabielle's  attention,  he  several  times  of- 
fered his  arm  to  her  in  the  street.  She  accepted,  happy 
at  having  the  appearance  of  a  married  woman  in  the 
eyes  of  passers ;  but,  when  she  arrived  at  her  door,  she 
withdrew  her  arm,  saying,  "  Thanks,"  in  an  absent- 
minded  way,  as  if  some  one  had  lent  her  a  stick  to  help 
her  cross  a  difficult  spot. 

It  was  necessary,  however,  to  decide  to  speak  to 
Gabielle  about  the  marriage.  She  replied  neither  Yes 
nor  No.  She  merely  showed  excessive  astonishment. 
But  from  that  day  she  often  looked  at  Jacques,  and  re- 
fused his  arm  in  the  street. 

The  month  of  June  arrived  with  its  flowers  and  its 
heat.  The  chestnut-trees  in  the  avenue  lifted  their 
branches  up  to  the  workshop,  and  from  morning  to  eve- 
ning the  sun  entered  by  the  open  windows.  In  spite 
of  this,  the  patron's  strength  was  declining,  and  his 
thinness  was  increasing. 

"  He  needs  the  air  of  the  Pyrenees,"  said  M.  Bon 


160 

at  each,  visit.  Mme.  Dalignac  thought  the  same.  But 
nothing  and  nobody  could  determine  the  sick  man  to 
leave  Paris.  Lying  sideways  in  his  easy  chair,  atten- 
tive to  all  the  movements  of  his  wife,  he  spent  his  time 
looking  at  her  without  ever  tiring. 

"  At  the  very  least,"  implored  M.  Bon,  "  don't  remain 
here  in  the  dust  of  the  materials.  Go  and  breathe 
outside." 

And  he  mentioned  the  neighboring  avenues  and  the 
garden  of  the  Luxembourg,  where  you  could  walk  and 
rest  at  your  ease. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  patron,  "  I  will  go  out  to- 
morrow." 

And  on  the  morrow  he  remained  as  the  day  before 
with  his  eyes  constantly  on  his  wife,  who,  without  ever 
tiring,  lifted  bodily  the  heavy  rolls  of  material,  and,  lay- 
ing them  out  on  the  table,  cut  several  garments  at  once. 

With  the  fine  weather,  the  desire  for  the  balcony  op- 
posite came  back  to  him.  He  growled  against  those  who 
had  the  luck  to  possess  it  and  who  did  not  use  it.  And, 
in  fact,  nobody  ever  did  come  out  on  the  balcony,  as 
Bouledogue  had  predicted.  It  was  only  used  for  beat- 
ing carpets,  and  already  large  gray  stains  were  appear- 
ing on  its  turned  bars  and  on  the  whiteness  of  its 
stones. 

To  make  the  patron  go  out  into  the  open  air,  Mme. 
Dalignac  decided  to  send  me  with  him  every  day  to 
the  Luxembourg.  He  was  in  a  bad  temper  all  the 
way,  and  no  sooner  had  we  arrived  in  the  garden  than 
he  began  to  talk  of  returning.  He  did  not  believe  in 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         161 

his  own  recovery,  and  he  blamed  me  for  obeying  his 
wife.  Therefore,  after  having  placed  his  chair  near 
the  gate,  he  affected  to  forget  my  presence,  and  unfolded 
his  newspaper,  which  he  held  up  between  us.  How- 
ever, he  read  very  little.  He  spent  most  of  his  time 
looking  at  the  ladies,  and  when  one  of  them  showed 
some  resemblance  to  Mme.  Dalignac,  he  became  amiable 
to  me  once  more  and  pointed  her  out  to  me. 

"  I  say,  little  Marie  Claire,"  he  said,  "  look  at  that 
one  a  bit.  Doesn't  she  resemble  her,  eh  ?  But  all  the 
same,  she's  not  so  well  made." 

It  was  true,  nearly  always,  for  it  was  difficult  to  be  as 
well  made  as  Mme.  Dalignac. 

After  a  week  of  growling  and  resistance,  he  began 
to  take  pleasure  in  the  garden.  The  terrace,  burning 
with  heat,  attracted  him  more  than  the  shade  and  cool- 
ness of  the  trees,  and  when  he  came  across  a  stone  bench 
full  in  the  sun,  he  spread  himself  out  on  it  and  touched 
it  too  with  his  hands,  as  if  to  take  in  all  its  warmth. 

The  nursery  and  the  wood  had  much  changed  since 
Christmas.  The  pigeons  in  their  new  clothes  now 
strutted  about  it  in  couples,  and  the  sparrows,  busy 
with  their  nests,  forgot  to  quarrel  among  themselves, 
and  flew  towards  every  bit  of  down  that  floated  by  in 
the  air. 

Gabielle,  who  could  no  longer  do  a  full  day's  work, 
sometimes  came  and  joined  us.  She  turned  her  back 
on  the  passersby,  and  held  herself  stiff  and  upright  on 
the  bench,  as  if  she  wished  to  hide  her  condition  from 
the  blackbirds  running  anxiously  across  the  lawn. 


162        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Jacques  also  came  and  joined  us.  Unlike  Gabielle, 
he  sat  on  the  bench  like  a  hunchback,  and  did  not  even 
try  to  repress  the  nervous  trembling  that  made  him 
jerk  his  elbows  away  from  his  body  and  shook  him  all 
over. 

To  the  right  and  left  of  us,  young  mothers,  with  calm 
faces,  watched  over  their  grown-up  babies  or  rocked 
with  their  hand  the  little  cart  that  served  as  a  cradle 
for  their  new-born  child. 

Jacques  avoided  looking  at  the  children  and  mothers, 
and  Gabielle,  with  squared  shoulders  and  closed  eyes, 
wept  and  moaned  quietly. 

It  had  taken  me  less  than  a  week  to  acquire  a  taste 
for  the  Luxembourg  Gardens.  I  stayed  there  in  a  sort 
of  enchantment,  which  made  me  forget  the  patron  and 
his  sulks. 

I  imagined  that  the  garden  was  floating  in  space,  and 
that  its  railings  with  their  gilded  spikes  were  there 
only  to  keep  it  within  bounds. 

High  among  the  trees,  the  queens,  all  white  on  their 
pedestals,  made  me  think  of  angels  about  to  fly  away. 
And  in  the  distance,  the  towers  of  Saint-Sulpice,  of 
which  you  could  see  the  summit,  seemed  placed  in  the 
sky  like  wayside  altars. 

The  noises  of  the  town  did  not  reach  us,  and  the  wind 
in  the  trees  was  as  soft  to  the  ears  as  the  rustling  of 
silk.  All  the  while,  the  voice  of  Bergeounette  sang  to 
my  memory  the  song  of  the  Earthly  Paradise  — 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         163 

"Dans  un  jardin  delicieux 
Tout  pres   des  cieux." x 

Over  beyond  the  paths,  when  a  group  of  children 
clad  in  bright  colors  passed  running,  they  seemed  to  me 
like  clumps  of  flowers  that  had  escaped  from  the  flower- 
beds and  were  flying  towards  the  underwoods. 

On  the  benches  and  the  chairs  couples  remained  inert 
and  silent,  as  though  crushed  by  happiness.  Other 
couples,  very  young,  very  serious,  and  their  gaze  fixed 
in  front  of  them,  went  with  hurrying  feet  towards  the 
nursery. 

The  evening  fell,  and  suddenly  the  sounding  of  a 
trumpet  warned  us  that  they  were  going  to  shut  the 
gates.  And  again  I  thought  of  Bergeounette's  song  — 

"Adam,  Adam,  en  tends  ma  voix, 
Sors  de  ce  bois."  2 

The  patron  rose,  and  as  though  he  too  had  thought  of 
the  song,  he  said  with  annoyance,  "  Come  along,  little 
one,  they  are  turning  us  out." 

In  spite  of  his  weakness,  the  patron  was  always  pres- 
ent in  the  morning  at  the  arrival  of  the  girls,  and  he 
always  found  droll  things  to  say  to  the  late-comers. 

"  It's  the  eiderdown's  fault,  I  bet." 

To  Duretour,  whose  back  hair  was  no  tidier  than  it 
had  been  the  day  before,  he  said,  "  The  pillow  pulled 
you  back  by  the  hair,  eh  ? " 

The  rest  he  was  taking  did  not  bring  very  much  color 

i "  In  a  delicious  garden  near  the  skiea." 

2  "  Adam,  Adam,  hear  My  voice ;  come  out  of  that  wood." 


back  to  his  face,  and  he  stood  the  noise  of  the  machines 
very  ill.  He  became  timid,  and  soon  unknown  noises 
upset  him  more  than  was  reasonable.  He  would 
place  his  hand  over  our  shears  to  say,  "  Listen  to  that ! 
What's  doing  that  ?  " 

We  listened,  and  Mme.  Dalignac  made  gentle  fun  of 
him  in  a  low  voice. 

"  That,"  she  would  say,  "  that's  a  lion  coming  through 
the  keyhole." 

He  laughed  with  us,  and  a  little  color  came  into  his 
cheeks. 

One  morning,  when  he  had  seen  a  little  mouse  rush 
from  the  rag-box,  he  almost  became  angry  as  he  insisted 
that  Duretour  should  go  immediately  for  the  neighbor's 
cat. 

It  was  a  big  cat,  born  in  the  flat  on  the  same  floor, 
and  it  had  never  seen  a  mouse.  We  often  met  it  on  the 
landing,  where  it  came  for  the  caresses  of  the  girls. 
As  soon  as  it  entered,  it  jumped  on  to  the  machines, 
and  it  went  all  round  the  workshop,  smelling  in  every 
corner.  Then,  having  seen  all  there  was  to  see,  it  crept 
into  an  empty  fixture  and  went  peaceably  to  sleep. 

The  little  mouse  had  a  suspicion  of  its  danger.  It 
poked  out  its  dainty  nose  several  times  from  a  hole 
between  the  wall  and  the  upper  part  of  the  fireplace, 
but  it  did  not  dare  to  come  any  farther.  Then  as  the 
big  cat  still  slept,  it  became  emboldened,  and  crossed 
the  workshop  to  the  kitchen. 

It  began  again  on  the  following  days.  Slim  and 
nimble  it  passed  by  in  its  pretty  gray  dress,  and  Ber- 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         165 

geounette,  who  watched  for  it,  laughed  to  see  it  so  clever. 

However,  the  cat  saw  it;  it  jumped  heavily  from  its 
shelf,  and  went  after  it  into  the  kitchen.  It  returned 
soon  afterwards,  but  its  manner  had  changed.  It  came 
along  cautiously,  stretching  all  its  body;  its  eyes  had 
also  become  yellower,  and  it  lengthened  its  claws.  It 
made  another  tour  of  the  workshop,  but  instead  of  re- 
turning to  its  old  place,  it  took  up  a  position  under  a 
stool  near  the  fireplace.  It  looked  as  though  it  were 
asleep  with  its  nose  on  its  paws,  but  one  of  its  ears 
was  constantly  cocked,  and  you  could  see  a  bright  streak 
between  its  eyelids. 

The  little  mouse  was  in  no  hurry  to  return,  and  every- 
body had  forgotten  both  it  and  the  cat,  when  a  cry  was 
heard  so  long  and  thin  that  every  machine  stopped  and 
everybody  looked  towards  the  stool.  The  cat  was  still 
there,  but  it  was  lying  on  its  side,  and  from  under  one 
of  its  paws  the  mouse's  tail  protruded  like  a  piece  of 
black  string.  Almost  immediately  the  black  string 
shook  and  the  mouse  escaped.  It  did  not  go  far;  the 
cat  was  in  front  of  it,  and  turned  it  with  its  paw.  It 
shammed  dead  for  a  moment,  then  tried  to  escape  to- 
wards the  kitchen;  but  the  cat  forestalled  it  again. 

Then  the  mouse  lost  its  head.  It  tried  to  fly  any- 
where and  anyhow;  it  turned  and  rushed  in  all  direc- 
tions, and  each  time  with  a  pat  of  the  paw  the  cat 
brought  it  back  to  the  workshop.  There  was  a  moment 
when  we  thought  that  it  was  about  to  resign  itself  to 
death,  it  trembled  so  and  was  in  such  a  state  of  collapse. 
But  suddenly  it  faced  its  torturer.  It  had  risen  so 


166 

quickly  that  it  almost  fell  backwards  with  its  spring. 
It  remained  upright,  quivering  and  shaking  its  fore- 
paws,  while  its  little  bleeding  jaws  gave  out  a  series 
of  different  cries.  And  we  all  understood  that  it  was 
overwhelming  with  insults  the  enormous  monster  that 
watched  it,  sitting  quietly  with  its  head  bent  forward. 
Then,  as  though  it  had  suddenly  measured  all  its  weak- 
ness and  understood  that  nothing  could  save  it,  it 
wavered  and  fell  back,  uttering  a  shrill  complaint.  And 
this  was  so  piteous  that  Bouledogue  seized  the  cat  by  the 
middle  of  the  back  and  threw  it  on  the  table.  It  came 
down  again  very  quickly,  but  the  mouse  was  no  longer 
there. 

The  patron  returned  to  his  easy  chair,  and  we  could 
not  tell  whether  he  was  annoyed  or  pleased  when  he 
said,  "  There,  it  has  escaped." 

Mme.  Dalignac  breathed  heavily,  and  her  two  fists, 
which  she  held  pressed  against  her  bosom,  opened  sud- 
denly, as  if  she  herself  had  nothing  more  to  fear. 

On  the  following  day  we  noticed  that  Gabielle  was 
in  pain.  She  stopped  her  machine  and  bent  double  for 
a  minute;  then  she  went  on  with  her  work  without 
saying  anything. 

"  Is  it  for  to-day  ? "  asked  Bergeounette  in  a  jocular 
voice.  And  she  offered  to  accompany  her  without  delay 
to  the  Maternite. 

Gabielle  was  afraid  of  the  hospital.  In  vain,  we  told 
her  that  the  Maternite  was  not  a  hospital ;  she  refused 
to  believe  it.  And  at  the  idea  of  going  there  thus, 
immediately,  without  time  for  further  reflection,  her 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         167 

repugnance  increased,  and  she  asserted  that  she  was 
only  suffering  from  a  passing  pain. 

Felicite  Damoure,  who  had  just  had  a  child,  took 
her  part  against  the  others. 

"  Pardi !  "  she  said.  "  She  has  plenty  of  time,  poor 
girl.  When  the  moment  comes  you'll  see  her  make  quite 
another  kind  of  face." 

But  as  Gabielle  continued  to  bend  double,  Bergeou- 
nette  put  her  mantle  on  by  main  force,  and  made  her 
leave  the  workshop. 

It  was  a  great  event  for  us,  and  most  of  the  girls 
went  to  the  window  to  see  Gabielle  cross  the  avenue. 
Mme.  Dalignac  and  the  patron  did  the  same,  and  I  went 
up  to  see  like  them. 

A  heavy  van  drawn  by  three  horses  which  was  com- 
ing slowly  up  the  avenue  prevented  the  two  women 
from  crossing  immediately,  and  Bergeounette  took  ad- 
vantage of  this  to  turn  towards  us  and  wave  us  farewell. 
We  could  see  that  Gabielle  wanted  to  do  the  same,  but 
in  turning  both  her  feet  slipped  from  the  curb,  and  she 
fell  flat  in  front  of  the  van. 

There  were  shouts.  The  leading  horse  backed,  reared 
and  mounted  the  pavement.  Then  we  saw  Bergeou- 
nette seize  the  horses'  bridle,  while  the  driver,  standing 
upright,  tugged  on  the  reins. 

People  ran  up,  but  Gabielle  had  already  risen  with- 
out help  and  was  shaking  herself. 

Mme.  Dalignac  had  not  waited  to  the  end  before 
running  downstairs.  She  supported  Bergeounette  as 
much  as  Gabielle,  and  all  three  came  up  slowly. 


Bergeounette's  alert  eyes  were  opened  wide,  and  her 
dark  face  had  taken  on  an  earthy  tinge. 

"  I  was  never  so  frightened  in  my  life,"  she  confessed. 

And  as  she  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  laugh  at 
herself  as  much  as  at  others,  she  exaggerated  her  weak- 
ness with  words  and  grimaces  that  restored  us  to  a  noisy 
gayety. 

Gabiellc  laughed.  She  had  refused  to  lie  down  in 
the  patrons  easy  chair,  and  she  refused  the  cordial 
which  Mme.  Dalignac  offered  to  .her.  She  laughed 
noiselessly,  and  her  laughter  had  something  supernatu- 
ral in  it.  The  pallor  of  her  face  also  had  something 
supernatural  in  it,  and  was  no  more  pleasant  to  see  than 
her  laughter,  but  all  the  hardness  of  her  features  had 
gone  and  her  eyes  had  become  gentle  and  confiding. 
She  went  back  to  her  machine,  and  there  was  no  further 
question  of  confinement  on  that  day. 

Neither  was  there  on  the  following  and  succeeding 
days.  And  although  Gabielle  bent  double  from  time 
to  time,  she  did  not  complain,  and  her  machine  made 
no  less  noise  than  the  others. 

Eight  days  had  passed  when  M.  Bon  came  to  visit 
the  patron.  Because  he  had  been  interested  in  Gabielle, 
the  patron  told  him  of  her  fall  as  a  funny  story,  but 
M.  Bon  did  not  think  the  story  so  funny,  and  he  pushed 
his  head  a  little  forward  to  look  at  Gabielle.  He  had 
scarcely  looked  at  her  when  it  was  as  though  another 
accident  had  happened.  He  leaned  over  her,  seized  her 
by  the  shoulder,  and  before  she  could  resist  he  had 
dragged  her  to  the  door. 


MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         169 

The  windows  opened  as  on  the  other  occasion,  and 
we  saw  Gabielle  half-dragged  and  half-carried  by  M. 
Bon  to  a  cab  that  set  off  immediately. 

Everybody  thought  it  was  a  premature  confinement. 
Gabielle  herself  must  have  thought  so,  for  as  she  passed 
through  the  cutting-room,  she  turned  towards  us  a  vexed 
face.  At  that  moment  only  I  had  remarked  her  purple 
eyelids  and  her  lips  of  so  dark  a  color  that  they  seemed 
black. 

It  was  not  long  before  M.  Bon  returned  for  his  hat, 
which  he  had  forgotten.  He  gave  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders full  of  contempt  for  our  ignorance. 

"  She  has  been  carrying  a  dead  child  since  the  day 
of  her  fall,"  he  said  roughly. 

A  week  later  we  knew  that  Gabielle  had  escaped  death, 
and  that  she  had  borne  her  sufferings  with  the  greatest 
courage. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  at  the  hour  for  visiting  the 
patients,  I  found  Bergeounette  at  the  Maternite.  It 
was  impossible  to  speak  to  Gabielle,  but  Bergeou- 
nette made  up  for  that  by  asking  a  thousand  ques- 
tions of  the  nurse  who  held  us  back  from  the  patient's 
bed. 

The  last  question  was  the  one  that  interested  us  the 
most. 

"  Was  it  a  boy  or  a  girl  ?  " 

The  nurse  had  not  thought  of  ascertaining,  and  with 
both  hands  she  gave  a  gesture  of  indifference,  as  she 
replied,  "  It  was  only  a  little  decomposed  flesh." 

We  were  scarcely  outside  when  Bergeounette  took  me 


170         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

by  the  arm,  and  said,  "  What  luck  for  her  that  fall 
was!" 

She  added  in  the  serious  voice  she  sometimes  had, 
"  The  child  has  gone  away  as  the  father  came,  without 
Gabielle's  seeing  the  shape  of  his  body  or  the  color  of  his 
face." 


XV 

THE  patron  was  now  in  bed  with  a  high  temperature. 
His  condition  had  been  aggravated  by  a  heavy  rainstorm 
which  we  had  not  been  able  to  avoid,  and  which  had 
kept  us  too  long  under  a  tree  in  the  Luxembourg  Gar- 
dens. 

M.  Bon  was  alarmed  at  this  fever,  which  did  not 
abate,  in  spite  of  cares  and  medicines.  On  the  other 
hand,  Mme.  Dalignac  was  not  troubled  by  it  at  all,  and 
she  continued  to  believe  in  the  approaching  recovery 
of  her  husband. 

"  I've  seen  him  much  worse  than  that,"  she  said  to 
the  girls  who  questioned  her  ajid  to  Bergeounette,  who 
was  afraid  to  sing  any  more. 

Eglantine,  who  had  gone  secretly  to  see  M.  Bon, 
feared  the  worst.  She  was  also  terrified  at  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac's  calm. 

"  My  aunt  knows  nothing  whatever  about  diseases," 
she  said  to  me  rapidly  at  the  door.  "  She  has  never 
had  a  cold  or  an  hour's  f everishness ;  and  if  my  uncle 
happens  to  die  it  will  strike  her  like  an  unforeseen 
calamity." 

I  knew  that  Eglantine  was  right,  but  no  more  than 
she  could  I  make  Mme.  Dalignac  understand  that  her 
husband  was  in  danger. 

Yet  everything  indicated  it:  M.  Bon's  anxious  and 
171 


1Y2         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

almost  angry  look,  the  haggard  eyes  of  the  patron,  as 
well  as  the  redness  of  his  face,  formerly  so  pale.  But 
all  that  seemed  to  exist  only  for  us.  When  Mme. 
Dalignac  touched  the  moist  forehead  and  the  hot  hands 
of  the  sick  man,  she  did  not  think  of  fever,  but  blamed 
the  July  heat  for  it.  She  even  managed  to  make  me 
share  her  confidence,  in  spite  of  Eglantine's  warnings. 

The  example  of  Sandrine  seemed  to  justify  her. 
"  She  might  have  recovered  with  rest  and  care,"  M. 
Bon  had  said.  The  patron  had  not  lacked  rest  or  care ; 
his  wife  had  spared  neither  toil  nor  courage  to  procure 
them  for  him,  and  now  that  the  embroidery  machine 
was  relegated  to  a  corner  and  exacting  customers  turned 
away  forever,  Mme.  Dalignac  firmly  believed  that 
nothing  could  threaten  her  husband's  life.  And  con- 
trary to  Eglantine,  she  retained  her  gentle  gayety  and 
let  her  pretty  laugh  be  heard. 

We  were  in  the  middle  of  the  dead  season.  The 
making  of  samples  and  visits  to  the  warehouse  occupied 
all  Mme.  Dalignac's  time,  but  it  was  easy  for  me  to 
remain  with  the  patron,  and  attend  to  his  slightest 
desires.  The  others  did  not  leave  me  in  the  lurch. 
Bouledogue,  who  could  do  housework  quickly  and  well, 
took  charge  of  the  tidying  and  cleaning,  and  Duretour, 
who  looked  after  the  medicine  bottles,  ran  to  the  chemist 
whenever  it  was  necessary. 

The  patron  was  happy  to  see  us  so  attentive.  He 
became  annoyed,  however,  when  he  saw  Bergeounette 
climb  on  to  the  handrail  of  the  window  to  clean  the 
panes  more  easily. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         173 

"  Eh  !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  go  breaking  your  paws, 
you  enormous  grasshopper."  And  he  added,  as  he 
forced  her  to  come  down,  "  For  the  time  I  have  left 
to  see  your  windows,  it  doesn't  matter." 

He  loved  the  noise  of  the  workshop,  and  to  lose  noth- 
ing of  it  he  made  me  leave  all  the  doors  open.  There 
were  only  a  few  girls  there.  And  Bouledogue's  machine 
alone  made  a  clapping  with  its  treadle.  Whenever  she 
stopped,  the  patron  became  anxious,  but  when  Bergeou- 
nette  sang,  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  stopped  coughing. 
Another  noise,  which  came  at  intervals,  held  all  his  at- 
tention. It  was  a  harsh,  stubborn,  tearing  noise. 

Cr-r-ran,  cr-r-ran,  cr-r-ran!  You  would  have  said 
that  it  was  a  pair  of  strong  jaws  engaged  in  crunching 
flesh  and  bone.  It  was  only  Mme.  Dalignac's  big  shears 
accomplishing  regularly  their  task. 

Long  hot  days  passed  without  bringing  the  relief  M. 
Bon  expected  of  them.  The  patron  laughed  at  him 
behind  his  back. 

"  Can't  he  see,  then,  that  I'm  at  the  end  of  my 
tether  ?  "  he  said. 

I  let  him  talk  and  laughed  with  him.  While  I 
sewed  near  his  bed  he  spoke  to  me  of  his  wife.  Every- 
thing he  had  to  say  of  her  was  to  her  praise,  and  if 
pain  cut  him  short,  reminding  him  that  death  was  near, 
it  did  not  frighten  him,  and  he  repeated  to  me  what 
he  had  already  told  me  a  hundred  times: 

"  With  her,  I've  had  my  share  of  happiness." 

Following  a  visit  from  Clement  on  leave,  he  forgot 
his  wife  a  little  to  speak  to  me  of  my  future  marriage. 


174        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

He  spoke  in  isolated  phrases  that  required  no  answer: 

'l  Living  alone  is  a  joyless  life." 

There  was  a  silence,  and  he  went  on: 

"  You  can't  live  without  joy." 

But  one  day,  when  his  fever  was  worse,  he  said  sud- 
denly, "  He  is  nothing  but  pride."  I  waited,  not  know- 
ing whether  he  was  still  speaking  of  Clement.  And 
as  I  raised  my  head  he  said  again,  "  You  won't  be 
happy  with  him." 

His  sunken  body  seemed  to  yield  to  sleep;  yet  he 
went  on  in  the  same  dull,  weak  voice,  "  His  heart  is 
like  a  burnt  road,  on  which  you  will  meet  neither  spring 
nor  shade." 

What  with  the  noise,  and  the  distance  she  was  away, 
Mme.  Dalignac  had  certainly  not  been  able  to  hear, 
and  I  did  not  understand  why  she  entered  the  room  so 
quickly,  and  why  she  remained  so  long  looking  at  us 
each  in  turn. 

She  touched  her  husband's  hands,  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead,  and  went  away  as  silently  as  she  had  come. 

The  pair  on  listened  for  a  moment  to  the  shears  as 
they  began  once  more  to  bite,  and  his  eyes,  which  had 
closed  on  the  departure  of  his  wife,  opened  again  when 
he  said  to  me,  "  Living  near  her,  you'll  acquire  her 
gentleness  and  courage." 

I  dared  not  ask  him  what  he  meant  by  his  other 
words,  and  he  spoke  to  me  no  more  of  Clement. 

Eglantine  came  soon  afterwards  to  spend  the  nights 
with  her  uncle,  as  I  spent  the  days.  When  she  arrived, 
a  little  before  sunset,  the  patron  received  her  with  a 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         175 

fine  smile  of  gratitude ;  then  he  went  heavily  to  sleep 
for  an  hour  or  two.  These  were  his  only  hours  of 
real  rest,  for  all  the  remainder  of  the  night  he  choked 
or  fidgeted  uselessly. 

For  us,  too,  they  were  the  only  hours  of  real  rest. 
After  our  dinner,  we  all  three  gathered  together  in  the 
workshop,  and  although  we  had  no  secrets  to  tell  each 
other,  we  spoke  in  a  low  voice  and  did  not  light  the  lamp. 

Here,  again,  I  heard  some  talk  of  Clement.  Mme. 
Dalignac  vaunted  his  qualities  of  heart,  and  extolled 
certain  traits  of  his  character. 

"  He  is  active  and  intelligent,  and  never  will  any 
one  belonging  to  him  know  what  poverty  is." 

Eglantine  did  not  contradict  her :  on  the  contrary,  to 
the  praise  of  Clement,  she  added  the  grateful  affection 
which  he  had  devoted  to  the  patron,  and  she  predicted 
quite  another  kind  of  affection  for  the  wife  and  children 
who  would  share  his  home.  Mme.  Dalignac  did  not 
forget  either  that  it  was  to  him  she  owed  the  happiness 
of  her  life.  And  as  though  the  knowledge  of  the  past 
was  a  bond  that  would  tie  me  still  more  strongly  to  her 
nephew,  she  told  me  one  evening  how  her  marriage  had 
taken  place. 

When  she  had  had  to  replace  her  sister  as  guardian 
of  the  three  orphans,  the  two  girls  had  not  given  her 
much  trouble,  but  it  had  not  been  the  same  with  their 
brother.  This  urchin  of  ten  had  proved  hard,  insolent, 
and  self-willed.  He  answered  caress  with  derision,  and 
reproof  with  outbursts  of  rage  which  frightened  his  aunt 
and  his  sisters. 


176         MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

Yet  this  child,  who  was  so  difficult  to  manage,  worked 
well  at  school,  and  was  considered  a  docile  and  respect- 
ful boy.  His  docility  and  his  respect  were  no  less  to- 
wards Dalignac,  the  embroiderer,  who  came  almost  every 
day  to  take  away  or  bring  back  work  to  the  workshop. 
And  thus  the  young  adoptive  mother  had  come  to  un- 
derstand that,  in  order  to  bring  up  a  boy,  the  authority 
of  a  man  was  necessary. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  embroiderer,  who  had  always 
been  retiring  and  timid,  had  grown  bold  by  becoming 
the  big  comrade  of  the  child.  He  joined  the  little 
family  in  its  walks  of  an  evening,  and  he  never  missed 
running  with  Clement  round  the  trees  and  benches. 

The  two  girls  had  immediately  begun  to  surmise. 
"  It's  me  he  wants  for  his  wife,"  said  Rose,  who  was 
already  as  lovely  as  a  marriageable  girl. 

"  If  it's  me  he  loves,"  said  Eglantine  in  turn,  "  he'll 
have  to  wait  until  I'm  fifteen." 

Although  she  laughed  with  the  two  girls,  their  aunt 
thought  as  Rose  did,  and  built  up  for  her  and  her  young 
brother  a  fine  future. 

This  had  lasted  until  the  evening  when  Dalignac  had 
abruptly  left  the  children  to  walk  by  the  side  of  their 
aunt.  The  mysterious  air  of  the  embroiderer  had  held 
the  children  back  during  the  whole  of  the  walk,  but 
after  his  departure  the  two  girls  had  asked  to- 
gether — 

"Is  it  me  he  loves?" 

"  Neither,"  their  aunt  replied. 

And  laughing  at  their  discomfiture,  she  told  them 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         177 

that  it  was  herself  whom  the  embroiderer  had  just  asked 
in  marriage. 

This  memory,  which  to-day  filled  the  two  women  with 
great  gayety,  did  not,  however,  make  Eglantine  raise 
her  voice  as  she  said,  "  Yes,  and  your  laugh  then  sounded 
so  clear  that  I  saw  for  the  first  time  your  beautiful 
shining  hair  and  your  figure,  which  was  much  better 
molded  than  ours." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

In  the  feeble  light  which  came  from  without,  I  saw 
Eglantine's  fingers  playing  with  a  lock  of  hair  that  had 
escaped  from  Mme.  Dalignac's  comb.  She  lengthened 
it  out  gently,  and  when  she  let  it  go,  the  lock  of  hair 
curled  up  again  and  returned  to  its  place  immediately. 

"  What  you  never  knew,"  went  on  Eglantine  sud- 
denly, "  is  the  trouble  we  took  that  evening  to  find  out 
your  age.  Rose  added  I  don't  know  how  many  tens 
of  years  to  her  fifteen,  and  I  started  on  calculations 
that  I  never  came  to  the  end  of." 

She  laughed  silently. 

"  Finally,"  she  went  on,  "  we  thought  of  your  Pirst 
Communion  picture  which  was  hanging  on  the  wall  of 
our  room.  We  did  not  dare  take  it  down,  for  fear  of 
being  discovered  by  you,  and  we  both  climbed  on  to  the 
same  chair  with  the  lamp.  We  could  not  make  out 
the  writing.  It  had  in  a  way  melted  into  the  parch- 
ment, and  all  that  remained  was  the  name  of  the  month 
of  May  printed  in  large  black  letters.  Rose  even  passed 
a  wet  finger  over  the  glass,  but  it  did  not  make  the 
date  of  your  birth  any  clearer." 


The  laughter  of  Eglantine  joined  Mme.  Dalignac's 
once  again,  but  although  it  was  almost  silent,  I  recog- 
nized each  as  I  recognized  their  clasped  hands,  in  spite 
of  the  darkness.  And  while  they  exchanged  caresses 
and  affectionate  words,  I  thought  of  the  First  Com- 
munion picture,  which  was  now  in  the  patron's  room. 
I  saw  its  obliterated  writing  and  the  lost  date,  and  I 
imagined  the  communicants,  boys  and  girls,  rising  from 
the  Holy  Table,  and  joining  each  other  in  couples,  as 
at  a  marriage,  when  the  newly-wed  pair  leave  the  church. 

On  another  evening,  Mme.  Dalignac  told  us  the  whole 
story  of  her  childhood  —  a  sad  childhood,  of  which  she 
retained  a  timorous  memory  full  of  bitterness. 

Her  mother  had  never  been  able  to  forgive  her  for 
having  come  into  the  world  at  a  time  when  she  thought 
that  she  was  safe  from  maternity. 

"  You  shame  me,"  she  used  to  say  to  her. 

And  she  never  permitted  her  to  laugh  and  play  with 
other  little  girls.  Up  to  the  age  of  six,  the  child  had 
known  the  caresses  of  her  father,  but  at  the  death  of 
the  worthy  man  she  was  left  with  the  threatening 
hatred  of  her  mother.  When  she  was  serving  her  ap- 
prenticeship she  had  had  to  make  her  way  to  the  dress- 
maker who  employed  her  by  a  long,  roundabout  and 
dirty,  deserted  street.  Her  going  and  coming  were 
carefully  watched,  and  when  one  day,  led  away  by  her 
comrades,  she  had  dared  to  return  by  way  of  the  finest 
street  in  the  town,  her  mother  had  beaten  her  with 
such  ferocity  that  she  had  nearly  lost  her  life.  And 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         179 

always  she  heard  these  words,  which  she  never  under- 
stood :  "  You  shame  me." 

She  grew  up,  however,  and  with  her  eighteenth  year 
came  the  strength  which  enabled  her  to  throw  off  the 
fear  inspired  by  her  mother.  She  even  brought  home 
songs  learned  in  the  workshop.  But  she  soon  stopped 
them  when  they  drew  on  her  sarcasms  like,  "  You're 
singing  to  attract  lovers." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I'm  singing  because  I  am 
happy." 

Happy !  How  dared  she  be  happy  with  the  shame 
she  carried  about  with  her. 

But  one  Sunday,  watching  the  spring  burst  into 
flower,  the  girl  had  forgotten  the  shame  her  mother 
talked  of,  and  suddenly  she  began  to  laugh.  First  of 
all  she  did  not  know  why  she  was  laughing;  then  hear- 
ing this  clear  ringing  sound,  she  did  not  recognize  it 
as  her  own.  She  thought  that  it  came  from  without, 
like  the  swallows  that  entered  by  one  window  and  flew 
out  by  the  other,  but  a  moment  later  she  understood 
that  this  laughter  had  entered  above  all  to  make  a  noise, 
for  it  became  louder,  it  spread,  it  rang  out  to  the  four 
corners  of  the  house. 

But  it  did  not  go  any  farther.  A  shock,  rapid  as 
lightning,  fell  upon  it  and  killed  it. 

"  It  was  my  last  stage  of  suffering,"  said  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac  to  us,  raising  her  gentle  face  a  little.  She  paused, 
as  though  she  were  giving  herself  the  time  to  shut  a 
door  which  should  not  have  been  opened,  and  she  added : 
"  The  dressmaker  who  employed  me  took  pity  on  my 


180        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

swollen  mouth,  and  on  the  following  day  I  left  the 
country  secretly  with  an  English  family." 

Our  evenings  passed  thus,  one  by  one,  and  each  one 
brought  us  a  little  nearer  to  each  other.  Sometimes  a 
fit  of  coughing  from  the  patron  brought  us  to  our  feet 
in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  and  we  separated  until 
the  next  morning. 

Mme.  Double,  who  came  often  enough  to  see  her 
brother,  did  not  exactly  bring  with  her  words  of  tender- 
ness. On  the  pretext  of  making  him  forget  his  illness, 
she  bullied  him  and  reproached  him  harshly  with  his 
inactivity.  She  even  made  him  get  up  and  walk  about 
the  room  when  Mme.  Dalignac  was  not  there.  The 
result  for  the  patron  was  a  state  of  fatigue  and  discon- 
tent that  increased  his  fever  and  made  his  choking  fits 
longer. 

"  She  puts  fire  on  my  burns,"  he  said. 

He  divined  her  arrival,  although  she  never  came  at 
the  same  hours,  and  before  she  had  knocked  at  the 
door,  he  announced,  "  Here  comes  Madame  '  I  order.' ' 

She  did,  in  fact,  order;  and,  moreover,  she  criticized 
everything  the  doctor  advised.  She  became  frightened, 
however,  on  the  morning  when  I  signed  to  her  to  hold 
her  peace.  The  patron  had  had  a  long  fainting  fit  in 
the  night,  and  M.  Bon  had  warned  Eglantine  that  he 
was  approaching  the  end. 

She  was  with  us,  as  it  happened,  the  gentle  Eglan- 
tine. She  had  not  been  able  to  tear  herself  away  from 
the  sick  man,  and  on  her  drawn  face  could  be  seen  the 


181 

effort  she  was  making  to  find  a  means  to  prepare  Mine. 
Dalignac  for  her  misfortune. 

Mme.  Double  must  also  have  gone  secretly  to  see  M. 
Bon  as  soon  as  she  had  left  us,  for  the  same  evening 
she  came  back  noiselessly  to  the  workshop.  She  had 
lost  her  arrogant  air,  but  even  so  her  voice  lacked  gentle- 
ness, when  she  said  to  Mme.  Dalignac,  "  Do  you  know 
that  my  brother  is  very  ill  ?  " 

Mme.  Dalignac  gave  a  start,  as  if  she  had  just  been 
informed  of  a  new  illness  of  her  husband's. 

"  The  poor  man,  he'll  perhaps  be  dead  to-morrow," 
went  on  Mme.  Double,  softening  her  voice  a  little. 

And  as  Mme.  Dalignac  looked  at  her  with  distrust 
she  poked  out  her  thumb,  and  said,  "  Ask  these  young 
women  then." 

Eglantine  made  one  quick  step  forward  that  brought 
her  near  to  me,  and  her  hand  clutched  firmly  on  to 
mine.  Mme.  Dalignac  saw  us  thus ;  she  asked  no  ques- 
tion; but  her  features  became  distorted,  and  she  sat 
down  abruptly  on  the  table. 

As  if  he  had  waited  for  this  warning  to  die,  the  patron 
called  us,  "  Eh,  come  here." 

His  glance  wandered  hesitatingly  over  our  four  bent 
faces,  but  when  he  had  recognized  his  wife  he  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  to 
be  listening  for  a  familiar  sound,  and  he  said,  as  though 
disappointed,  "  Ah !  yes,  the  day's  work  is  over." 

And  immediately  afterwards  his  respiration  weak- 
ened. 

He  died  painlessly,  almost  upright,  and  his  last  sigh, 


182 

long,  rough  and  jerky,  made  me  think  of  the  noise  of 
his  embroidery  machine. 

As  for  our  overtime  vigils,  two  lamps  were  lit  for 
the  vigil  of  death. 

Mme.  Double  filled  the  workshop  with  cries  and 
lamentations,  and  Mme.  Dalignac,  who  wandered  round 
silent  and  tearless,  knocked  herself  against  the  cutting 
table  each  time  that  it  came  in  her  way. 

At  each  of  these  collisions  something  fell  from  the 
table.  The  French  chalk  went  first,  and  the  measuring 
tape  followed  it,  hissing  and  twisting  like  some  evil 
beast  that  has  been  awakened.  Then  a  piece  of  silk 
half -unrolled  fell  down,  and  we  had  to  pick  it  up  to 
prevent  it  from  puffing  out  and  slipping  with  a  rustle 
underneath  our  feet. 

The  big  shears  themselves  finally  jumped  from  the 
table.  Their  double  points  stuck  into  the  flooring,  and 
they  stood  upright  and  alarming  like  a  closed  barrier. 

The  heat  of  midnight  was  no  less  sultry  than  that  of 
noon.  Not  a  breath  of  air  came  from  above.  The  stars 
shone  dimly  in  the  black  sky,  and  on  the  avenue  the 
chestnut-trees  were  as  motionless  as  if  they  had  gone 
to  sleep  forever. 

A  little  after  midnight  Mme.  Double's  noisy  sorrow 
subsided,  and  the  weary  limbs  of  Mme.  Dalignac  com- 
pelled her  to  sit  down.  She  took  her  usual  place  be- 
tween Eglantine  and  me.  And  the  silence  that  brooded 
over  everything  outside  entered  the  house  immediately. 


XVI 

SINCE  Mile.  Herminie  had  had  at  her  disposal  a  few 
francs  more  each  week  than  were  sufficient  for  her  or- 
dinary expenses,  the  boulevards  and  gardens  of  Paris 
no  longer  satisfied  her.  She  wanted  to  follow  the  crowd 
of  Parisians  who  went  each  Sunday  into  the  country, 
and  to  do  so  she  rose  early  and  took  some  pleasure  in 
her  toilet.  I  was  also  happy  myself  to  escape  for  a 
whole  day  from  the  town,  and  together  we  set  out  happy 
and  bustling  as  for  a  far-off  and  wonderful  country. 
Oftenest  a  tram  took  us  only  to  the  suburbs,  but  at  other 
times  the  train  carried  us  much  farther,  and  it  was  then 
that  Mile.  Herminie  fancied  that  she  had  recovered  a 
little  of  the  country  she  had  left  and  which  she  re- 
gretted so  bitterly.  The  journey  was  itself  like  a  fes- 
tival for  us.  From  the  moment  we  left  Paris,  there 
were  on  each  side  of  the  railway  immense  market  gar- 
dens, with  their  hundreds  of  glass  bells  in  lines,  shining 
in  the  sun  like  lakes  of  bright  water.  Then  came  the 
orchards.  Spring  had  Deflowered  them  with  white  and 
pink.  And  when  the  month  of  June  had  reddened  the 
first  fruits,  it  covered  at  the  same  time  the  broad  em- 
bankments of  the  railway  with  wild  poppies.  The 
speed  of  the  train  mixed  everything,  and  we  could  not 

183 


184         MARIE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP 

tell  whether  the  flowers  were  cherries  or  whether  the 
cherries  were  wild  poppies. 

The  Chevreuse  Valley  captured  our  preferences. 

Lozere  especially  delighted  Mile.  Herminie.  The 
hills  were  a  little  lacking  in  vines  for  her  liking,  but  the 
slopes  covered  with  strawberry  plants  and  with  frail 
peach  trees  pleased  her  more  than  the  plain  with  its 
fields  of  oats  and  wheat. 

After  a  morning's  walk  along  the  road  or  byways, 
we  stopped  at  a  little  inn  under  a  sort  of  shed  open  to 
all  the  winds  and  built  specially  for  Parisians  on  Sun- 
day. A  sparrow  had  made  its  nest  there  at  the  point 
where  a  beam  crossed  a  pillar  that  supported  the  roof. 
The  young  ones  thrust  their  heads  fearlessly  over  the 
edge  of  the  nest,  and  the  parents  ventured  as  far  as 
the  tables  to  take  the  breadcrumbs.  There  was  such 
silence  in  the  valley  that  nobody  dared  to  speak  loudly 
under  the  shed.  The  dishes  were  long  in  coming,  but 
nobody  became  impatient,  and  everybody  smiled  on  the 
servant,  who  laughed  without  hurrying  herself.  Then 
we  set  out  again,  but  whether  we  were  walking  along 
a  road  in  the  sun,  or  seated  in  the  cool  shade  of  a 
wood,  Mile.  Herminie  always  recalled  some  memory  that 
lightened  our  feet  or  prolonged  our  rest.  The  high  and 
narrow  houses  that  we  met  on  the  road  gave  her  occa- 
sion to  praise  the  width  and  depth  of  the  one  in  which 
she  was  born,  and  the  tiny  garden  of  a  fine  villa,  where 
selected  pebbles  replaced  the  verdure,  made  her  say, 
"  My  garden  was  full  of  flowers  and  foliage,  and  when 
the  sun  entered  it  after  the  rain,  the  leaves  took  on 


MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP          185 

such  wonderful  colors  and  bedecked  themselves  with 
such  sparkling  drops  of  water  that  they  became  more 
beautiful  than  the  flowers." 

Seeing  my  astonishment  that  she  could  have  left  of 
her  own  free  will  a  spot  that  was  so  dear  to  her,  she 
went  on  quickly,  "  The  garden  held  me  back  for  three 
years  after  the  death  of  my  parents,  but  the  empty 
house  frightened  me ;  the  silence  at  nights  prevented 
me  from  sleeping,  and  my  health  suffered." 

She  made  a  long  pause,  and  continued,  "  And  then,  I 
lost  my  work.  The  women  no  longer  brought  their 
dresses  to  me  to  make." 

She  added  as  though  angry:  "That  was  my  fault 
too.  ...  I  carried  my  sorrow  like  an  infirmity." 

There  was  some  rancor  in  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
I  dared  then  to  ask  her,  "  What  did  you  do  on  the  day 
of  your  sweetheart's  marriage  ?  " 

To  my  great  surprise,  she  replied  simply,  "  I  went  to 
the  church,  and  I  prayed  a  long  time  for  his  happiness." 

And  thus  our  Sundays  followed  one  another,  filled 
with  the  open  air  and  gentle  words.  And  as  I  listened 
to  Mile.  Herminie,  I  seemed  to  receive  from  her  the 
precious  gift  of  a  very  long  life,  made  up  of  love  and 
courage,  of  wretchedness  and  regrets. 

Fine  weather  did  not  always  favor  us.  The  roads 
were  sometimes  transformed  into  quagmires  and  the 
flowered  walks  into  bogs,  but  we  only  laughed,  so  great 
was  our  joy  at  being  in  the  open  air.  Often,  even 
after  night  had  fallen,  we  lingered  to  listen  to  the  pure 
song  of  the  toads  in  the  ditches.  The  coolness  of  the 


186        MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

earth  penetrated  us,  and  the  moon  froze  us  like  a  damp 
cloth.  On  the  warm  evenings  of  July  we  allowed  the 
return  trains  to  pass  without  being  able  to  make  up 
our  minds  to  go  home.  We  had,  however,  to  take  the 
last,  a  packed  and  noisy  train,  which  rushed  us  back  to 
the  town,  the  lights  of  which  on  our  arrival  surprised 
us  and  dazzled  us. 

As  for  Burgundy,  we  contented  ourselves  by  making 
plans  to  go  there.  It  was  not  for  lack  of  talking  about 
it  at  the  workshop,  however.  While  giving  detailed 
accounts  of  our  Sunday  outings,  the  old  woman  never 
ceased  to  deplore  the  fact  that  her  country  was  not  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Paris. 

Mme.  Dalignac,  who  was  always  affected  by  the  dis- 
tress of  others,  in  spite  of  her  own  sorrow,  finally  said 
to  me,  "  Take  her." 

And  as  we  were  on  the  eve  of  the  15th  of  August, 
she  decided  to  grant  us  three  days  for  the  journey. 

Three  days  to  spend  in  her  country  !  Mile.  Herminie 
could  not  believe  it.  She  became  so  nervous  that  we 
were  frightened  for  her  health,  and  she  began  to  weep. 

"  They're  good  tears,"  she  said  to  reassure  us. 

But  a  sudden  fear  came  to  her. 

"  Supposing  I  were  to  die  after  so  much  happiness." 

"  That  doesn't  matter,"  replied  Mme.  Dalignac,  who 
did  not  know  her  fear  of  death;  "you'll  die  happy 
at  least." 

On  the  morning  of  our  departure,  it  rained  in  tor- 
rents. All  night  a  storm  had  thundered  over  Paris, 
and  now  the  wind  blew  the  rain,  which  came  tapping 


187 

against  the  windows  and  made  the  gutters  of  the  roof 
overflow.  I  hesitated  before  waking  Mile.  Herminie; 
but  at  the  first  gentle  tap  on  her  door,  she  came  out  com- 
pletely dressed, 

"  Oh,"  she  said  to  me,  "  to  prevent  me  from  starting 
it  would  have  to  be  a  different  rain  from  that !  " 

And  in  the  street,  her  umbrella  in  one  hand  and  her 
skirts  held  up  by  the  other,  she  went  along  so  rapidly 
that  I  could  scarcely  keep  up  with  her. 

The  journey  passed  without  a  word.  She  kept  her 
eyes  lowered,  or  looked  at  the  other  travelers  indiffer- 
ently, and  the  stations  passed  without  her  paying  the 
least  attention  to  them.  She  would  even  have  let  pass 
her  own  station,  if  I  had  not  warned  her  that  we  were 
entering  it.  Then,  she  was  the  first  at  the  door;  she 
opened  it  with  a  firm  hand,  and  jumped  out  on  to  the 
platform  —  fr-r-rout !  like  a  swallow,  as  she  had  jumped 
from  the  vintage  cart  in  her  youth.  Only,  although 
her  black  dress  did  not  catch  in  the  footstep,  she  tucked 
up  her  skirts  so  high  that  she  showed  all  the  embroidery 
on  her  white  petticoat. 

The  whole  day  was  one  of  wonders.  According  to 
Mile.  Herminie,  there  was  nothing  to  be  compared  to 
the  river  that  cut  the  town  in  two,  nor  to  the  main 
street  that  descended  as  rapidly  as  a  torrent,  and  the 
uneven  cobbles  of  which  prevented  us  from  putting  our 
feet  down  squarely. 

Until  the  evening,  we  did  nothing  but  walk  from 
street  to  street,  and  talk  with  old  people  whom  she  recog- 
nized as  she  passed.  But  just  as  we  were  going  to  bed, 


188         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

she  clasped  her  hands  as  in  prayer,  and  said,  "  Where 
is  the  man  who  made  me  weep  so  much  ?  " 

On  the  following  day  she  took  me  to  the  vines. 
Nearly  all  looked  wretched,  and  several  of  them  seemed 
very  sickly.  Mile.  Herminie  did  not  recognize  them. 
At  this  time  of  the  year,  when  the  vine-stems  should 
have  disappeared  beneath  the  leaves  and  the  bunches 
of  grapes,  you  could  see  only  black  wood  and  burnt 
foliage. 

"  Where  are  the  vine-dressers,  then  ? "  said  the  old 
woman,  looking  all  around  her. 

And  the  roads  stretched  out  with  neither  workers  nor 
carts  upon  them.  And  these  vines,  which  I  had  ex- 
pected to  see  splendid  and  noisy,  showed  in  the  whole 
stretch  of  them  nothing  but  sickness  and  desertion. 

Before  us  Saint-Jacques  Hill  lay  high  and  broad 
with  the  same  lean  and  withered  vines,  but  at  the  sum- 
mit, right  in  the  middle,  a  large  bare  space  shone  in 
the  sun  and  drew  our  eyes.  As  we  advanced,  this  square 
stood  out  more  brilliantly  and  clearly,  and  Mile.  Her- 
minie stopped  suddenly  to  ask  me,  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  It's  stubble,"  I  replied  immediately,  for  as  we  ap- 
proached I  had  recognized  the  yellow  and  shining  straw 
of  wheat. 

Mile.  Herminie  choked.  She  lifted  up  her  hand  as 
at  the  announcement  of  some  irreparable  disaster. 

"  Wheat  in  our  vines !  "  she  exclaimed.  Then  she 
crossed  herself  slowly,  saying  in  a  low  voice,  "  Lord, 
have  pity  on  us !  " 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         189 

And  instead  of  going  on,  she  went  back  and  sat  down 
on  a  heap  of  props  that  were  rotting  at  the  edge  of  the 
road. 

A  very  old  vine-dresser,  who  was  painfully  climbing 
a  cross-path,  came  and  sat  near  us,  recognizing  Mile. 
Herminie,  but  instead  of  speaking  of  their  youth,  as  I 
expected,  they  spoke  only  of  the  vine. 

The  old  man  loved  it  too.  He  had  spent  his  whole 
life  cultivating  it  and  embellishing  it.  Old  age,  by 
taking  away  his  strength,  alone  had  compelled  him  to 
rest.  But  he  could  not  leave  it.  Since  it  had  been 
sick,  he  visited  it  each  day  with  a  great  pity.  At  the 
beginning,  he  had  pulled  off  here  and  there  a  bad  leaf, 
without  believing  greatly  in  the  seriousness  of  its  disease, 
but  he  was  well  aware  now  that  it  was  going  to  die. 

"  So  much,  so  much  good  wine  it  has  given,"  he  said. 

And  his  mouth  remained  open  as  though  to  allow 
of  the  passing  of  a  long  regret.  He  turned  his  head 
towards  the  stubble-field  above,  and  when  his  eyes  came 
back  to  the  vine,  he  said  resignedly,  "  It's  perhaps  be- 
cause it's  too  old,  it  too." 

He  left  us  to  make  his  way  back  down  the  path.  He 
was  so  bent  that  his  forehead  touched  the  vine-shoots 
as  he  passed.  And  behind  him  a  young  lad  with  robust 
arms  climbed  the  same  path  with  a  barrow  loaded  with 
dead  vine-stems  which  he  tipped  with  one  movement  into 
the  ditch. 

Mile.  Herminie  was  silent.  She  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  three  large,  clumsy  elm-trees  which  could  be  seen 
in  the  distance,  and  which  resembled  three  old  men 


190        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

with  their  heads  together,  telling  each  other  a  secret. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  they  were 
called  the  three  little  ladies." 

She  rose,  and  went  on,  "  They,  too,  have  seen  the  vine 
in  its  loveliness.  Then  it  was  fresh  and  healthy  with 
leaves  the  color  of  honey." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"  Now  it's  like  moldy  bread." 

Her  joy  had  gone,  and  her  arm  weighed  heavily  on 
mine  as  we  descended  the  hill.  Yet  the  grassy  roads 
that  crossed  and  ran  into  one  another  were  full  of  grass- 
hoppers and  butterflies.  At  each  step  we  took  they 
rose  in  dozens.  On  the  ground,  they  blended  with  the 
dust  and  the  grasses;  but  when  they  flew  up,  their 
spread  wings  showed  all  the  colors  of  flowers. 

The  road  she  led  me  through  at  the  bottom  was  bor- 
dered with  poplar  trees,  which  rustled  endlessly  in  the 
warm  air.  By  its  side  flowed  the  river  full  and  clear, 
and  its  whispering  mounted  towards  the  trees,  and  in- 
creased their  joyous  noise- 

Mile.  Herminie  sought  for  a  place  to  sit  down  again, 
and  not  finding  one  she  leaned  against  one  of  the  pop- 
lars. Her  eyes  wandered  from  one  spot  to  another, 
and  she  said  slowly,  "  Isn't  everything  sad  here !  " 

I  protested  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  Sad !  This  lovely  road  and  that  pretty  river  travel- 
ing in  company  and  seeming  to  laugh  together  all  along 
the  way." 

Mile.  Herminie's  astonished  air  stopped  me  from 
going  further,  and  I  dared  not  tell  her  that  it  was  her 


191 

own  sadness  that  she  was  casting  over  everything.  She 
had  just  acquired  so  great  a  quantity  of  it,  that  she 
could  no  longer  carry  it,  and  she  had  to  let  some  of  it 
escape.  The  spot  made  her  still  more  bitter.  It  was 
at  this  same  place  that,  after  several  years,  chance  had 
brought  her  face  to  face  with  the  man  she  loved. 

"  It  was  in  the  spring,"  she  said,  and  in  the  song  of 
the  foliage  and  the  water,  her  voice  seemed  harsh  to 
me ;  "  I  was  walking  with  my  sister,  who  was  proudly 
carrying  her  beautiful  infant  in  her  arms.  He  stopped 
short  as  he  saw  us,  and  the  woman  with  him  did  the 
same.  She,  too,  was  carrying  a  beautiful  infant  in 
her  arms,  and  she  stared  at  me  without  saying  anything. 
Then  I  began  to  speak ;  I  didn't  know  quite  what  I  was 
saying,  but  I  spoke  because  the  silence  was  too  much 
for  me." 

Mile.  Herminie  stopped  for  a  moment.  Then  her 
whole  face  became  puckered  with  suffering,  and  her  old 
hands  went  up  in  one  movement  to  her  ears  as  she  went 
on  hollowly :  "  Oh !  that  silence !  it  became  so  terrible 
that  I  took  fear  and  I  fled  towards  the  house,  running 
as  fast  as  I  could." 

We  were  slowly  approaching  the  house.  It  was  a 
little  withdrawn  from  the  road,  with  a  garden  in  front 
full  of  pink  rose-trees. 

Two  fair  young  girls  were  sewing  there  in  the  shade 
of  an  old  vine-arbor.  They  raised  their  heads  at  our 
approach,  and  their  hands  stopped  sewing. 

Mile.  Herminie  touched  the  latch  of  the  gate,  as  if 


192         MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

she  was  about  to  enter  the  garden ;  but  she  did  not  do  so. 

"  Nothing  is  changed/'  was  all  she  said  in  her  or- 
dinary voice.  She  lowered  it  a  little  to  add,  "  The  fair- 
est one  there,  see  ?  The  slenderest,  that's  me." 

Yes,  that  was  exactly  what  Mile.  Herminie  must 
have  been  like.  For  a  second  I  had  the  illusion  of 
seeing  her  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  I  could  not  help 
smiling  at  the  young  girl,  who,  smiling  too,  watched  us 
depart. 

We  returned  to  the  town,  and  the  river  was  already 
darkening  beneath  the  bridge  which  joined  the  two 
banks,  when  Mile.  Herminie  turned  abruptly  into  a 
narrow  lane,  in  order  to  return  by  a  roundabout  way 
behind  the  house  with  the  pink  rose-trees. 

On  this  side  the  house  seemed  much  smaller.  A 
vine  covered  its  whole  width,  and  left  free  only  a  back 
door  and  two  rounded  windows  above.  The  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  fell  upon  the  roof,  and  made  the  white  chim- 
neys appear  pink. 

The  kitchen-garden  stretched  right  up  to  us.  It  was 
an  immense  garden,  all  length,  in  which  the  vines 
framed  the  vegetables,  and  where  the  rose-trees  also  had 
their  place.  The  fruit-trees,  which  had  grown  where 
chance  had  placed  them,  were,  for  the  most  part,  peaches. 
One  of  them,  overloaded  with  fruit,  was  leaning  its 
branches  on  forked  stakes,  and  around  it  the  bees  and  the 
wasps  made  a  great  concert  of  hummings.  On  the  high- 
est branch,  a  redbreast  twittered,  "  Tzille-tzille,  Terruis- 
tzille,  Tzille-tzille."  He  hurried  as  though  he  must 
absolutely  finish  his  song  before  night.  He  was  of  the 


193 

same  color  as  the  peaches,  and  he  seemed  himself  a 
fruit  that  the  sun  had  reddened  in  places. 

A  short  distance  from  the  kitchen-garden  was  a  cot- 
tage made  of  old  bricks  and  planks.  All  round  this 
cottage  was  nothing  but  rubbish  and  stones,  but  from 
the  middle  of  this  mixture  rose  a  fig-tree  so  thick  in 
leaves  that  it  prevented  the  people  of  the  house  from 
seeing  what  went  on  behind  it. 

This  was  the  spot  chosen  by  Mile.  Herminie  to  sit 
down.  She  knew  this  fig-tree  well ;  it  had  grown  there 
nobody  knew  how,  and  its  knotty,  gentle  branches  looked 
like  limbs  that  had  been  broken  and  badly  set.  She 
knew  well,  too,  the  old  cottage,  which  was  scarcely  more 
broken-down  than  it  had  been  in  her  time.  She  had 
sheltered  there  on  the  rainy  days  of  her  childhood,  and 
she  had  taken  refuge  there  later  on  to  weep  her  lost  love 
undisturbed.  The  fig-tree  and  the  cottage  seemed  diffi- 
cult to  separate;  they  appeared  to  be  welded  together; 
and  while  the  wall  and  the  planks  bulged  outwards  as 
a  support,  the  fig-tree  lay  its  branches  along  the  roof, 
as  if  to  hold  the  broken  tiles  that  threatened  to  fall. 

The  noises  of  the  evening  sounded  clear  in  the  dis- 
tance. Thin,  transparent  smoke  rose  from  the  houses, 
and  the  few  white  specks  we  saw  moving  in  the  vine 
spread  over  the  roads  and  the  paths. 

The  young  man  we  had  seen  on  the  hill  passed  once 
more  in  front  of  us.  He  had  left  his  barrow  behind 
him,  and  he  was  going  home  with  empty  hands  and  a 
flower  in  his  lips.  He  took  out  the  flower  when  he 
perceived  us,  and  he  looked  at  us  as  though  he  were 


194        MARIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

surprised  to  find  us  there.     Then  his  careless  air  re- 
turned, and  he  went  off  singing  in  a  loud  voice  — 

"  Je  1'ai  menee  a  la  claire  fontaine, 

-  Je  1'ai  menee  a  la  claire  fontaine, 

Quand  elle  fut  la  elle  ne  voulut  point  boire, 

Dondaine, 

Don. 

C'est  1'amour  qui  nous  mene, 
Don-don."  x 

Mile.  Henninie  followed  him  with  her  eyes  as  far 
as  the  turn  of  the  road. 

The  three  elm-trees,  which  were  now  nearer  to  us, 
seemed  all  the  older  and  the  more  shapeless.  They 
were  the  only  large  trees  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the 
birds  came  from  all  sides  to  lodge  in  their  branches. 
You  could  hear  them  chirping  all  together,  as  if  each 
one  was  giving  an  account  of  what  he  had  done  during 
the  day.  You  also  heard  a  furious  caterwauling,  and  a 
whole  flock  of  them  flew  away.  A  few  only  returned 
to  the  branches,  and  immediately  there  was  calm. 

The  sun  had  gone  down,  taking  with  it  its  light,  but 
before  darkness  had  come,  another  light  rose  opposite  the 
sunset  —  a  mysterious,  veiled  brightness  which  grew 
timidly,  like  some  forbidden  thing.  And  suddenly  the 
moon  appeared  on  the  summit  of  the  hill.  It  was  enor- 
mous and  yellow,  and  its  black-daubed  face  seemed  to 

i "  I  took  her  to  the  clear  fountain.  I  took  her  to  the  clear 
fountain.  When  she  was  there  she  would  not  drink,  dondaine, 
don.  It  is  love  that  leads  us,  don-don." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         195 

be  leaning  cautiously  forward  to  assure  itself  that  noth- 
ing would  trouble  its  passage  in  the  course  of  the  night. 
The  cool  wind  accompanying  it  seemed  to  be  running 
before  it.  It  hustled  the  sparse  foliage  of  the  vines  at 
the  same  time  as  it  swept  away  the  light  clouds  that 
lingered  in  the  sky.  It  knocked  against  us  before  it 
entered  the  kitchen-garden,  where  it  shook  with  the  same 
roughness  the  cabbages  and  the  rose-trees,  and  it  pene- 
trated the  fig-tree,  where  it  remained  a  long  moment 
turning  over  the  broad  leaves  and  whistling  in  the  holes 
of  the  cottage. 

Mile.  Herminie  was  speaking  in  a  clear,  sing-song 
voice,  and,  in  spite  of  the  wind  which  blew  on  her  mouth, 
I  heard,  "  The  day  he  went  away,  his  kiss  was  no  less 
tender  than  it  had  been  the  day  before,  nor  his  hands 
less  caressing.  And  when  he  had  shut  the  garden-door 
behind  him,  he  turned  as  he  had  done  the  other  times 
to  look  towards  the  door  of  the  house,  where  I  still 
stood." 

She  stopped  suddenly.  One  of  the  windows  of  the 
house  had  just  lit  up,  and  two  shadows  moved  in  the 
light;  they  moved  about  a  long  time  and  they  often 
merged.  Then  the  window  opened  wide,  and  the  light 
went  out. 

"  We,  too,  would  have  left  the  window  open  on  the 
garden,"  said  Mile.  Herminie  to  me  in  a  low  tone. 

And  once  more  she  gave  voice  to  her  regrets,  which 
flew  away  lightly  and  discreetly  like  the  night-birds 
that  brushed  by  us  with  no  announcement  of  their  com- 
ing. 


196        MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

A  very  long  time  passed.  The  wind  had  left  us  to 
run  farther  afield,  and  the  breeze  that  replaced  it  was 
so  gentle  that  the  leaves  did  not  even  stir  at  its  approach. 

All  around  us,  a  white  vapor  covered  the  earth  like 
a  fine  carpet,  while  overhead,  facing  us,  the  moon,  now 
shining  and  pure,  surpassed  in  brilliancy  everything 
that  shone  in  the  firmament. 

Everything  was  at  rest.  The  dogs  had  stopped  bark- 
ing in  the  distance.  The  vines  near  at  hand  seemed 
like  sleeping  ponds,  and  the  three  elm-trees,  all  whit- 
ened with  light  at  the  summit,  seemed  to  have  put  on 
a  cap  for  the  night. 

A  sort  of  howl  suddenly  rose  near  me.  It  sounded 
like  the  plaint  of  a  young  dog,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  I  understood  that  it  was  Mile.  Herminie  who  was 
weeping.  Seated  on  the  crumbling  stones,  her  hands 
hanging  limply  and  her  head  flung  back  beneath  the 
moon,  she  was  uttering  a  long  and  monotonous  cry,  as 
though  she  was  hurling  into  space  a  call  agreed  upon  in 
order  that  her  sorrow  might  be  gathered  and  nothing 
lost  of  it. 

A  fig-leaf  fell  behind  us;  it  fell  heavily  like  a  too 
ripe  fruit,  and  its  noise  stopped  the  wailing.  One  mo- 
ment still  Mile.  Herminie  remained  motionless ;  then  she 
rose,  and  took  my  arm. 

"  Let  us  be  off !     Let  us  be  off !  "  she  said. 

And  instead  of  going  back  to  the  town  which  she  had 
desired  so  much  to  see  again,  she  turned  her  back  to  it 
and  dragged  me  towards  the  station. 


XVII 

THE  workshop  was  again  enlarged.  The  doors  that 
led  from  one  room  to  another  were  taken  down,  and  the 
furniture  huddled  together  to  make  room  for  new  ma^ 
chines.  In  spite  of  all  this,  when  November  brought 
back  the  rain  and  the  cold,  orders  became  so  numerous 
that  the  girls  in  the  workshop  no  longer  sufficed,  and 
it  was  necessary  to  take  on  ten  outside  workers. 

The  housewives  in  the  neighborhood  knew  that  at 
Mme.  Dalignac's  the  work  was  better  paid  than  else- 
where, so  that  at  every  hour  of  the  day  they  came  to 
take  work  away.  Many  of  them,  however,  went  away 
disappointed  when  they  saw  the  elegance  of  the  work. 
"  Ah !  you  do  good  work,"  they  said ;  and  without  tak- 
ing their  eyes  off  the  model,  they  added,  "  I  only  know 
how  to  do  common  work." 

And  folding  up  their  black  wrappers,  they  went  away 
slowly. 

We  were  left  with  Bonne-Mere.  She  was  a  widow, 
still  young,  with  five  children.  Her  two  eldest,  Mari- 
nette  and  Charlet,  were  already  helping  her.  Mari- 
nette,  who  was  not  yet  twelve,  sewed  almost  as  well  as 
her  mother,  and  Charlet,  who  had  just  reached  ten, 
earned  a  few  pence  selling  flowers  after  school  hours. 
The  urchin  rarely  came  up  to  the  workshop.  He  re- 
mained below  to  look  after  his  little  brothers,  while  he 

197 


198         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

sold  his  flowers.  You  heard  only  his  piping  voice, 
"  Buy  a  flower,  ladies." 

Sometimes  it  was  lemons  he  had  in  his  basket.  He 
would  forget  this,  and  still  invite  the  ladies  to  buy 
flowers. 

Then  Bonne-Mere  would  smile  and  say  to  us,  "  Listen 
to  the  fool." 

Another  came  whom  Bergeounette  immediately  nick- 
named Mme.  Berdandan.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
death  of  the  patron,  Mme.  Dalignac  laughed  heartily, 
the  name  fitted  the  newcomer  so  well.  She  was  so 
tall,  so  broad,  and  so  heavy  that  the  floor  trembled  as 
she  passed  over  it,  and  she  swayed  so  in  her  walk  that 
you  feared  somewhat  that  she  might  fall  over. 

But  there  was  no  heaviness  either  in  her  character 
or  her  voice.  She  sang  as  she  spoke,  and  her  mouth 
never  opened  except  to  say  jolly  things  or  to  bring  good 
news.  "  A  real  lucky  bell,"  said  Bergeounette. 

And  when  Mme.  Berdandan  went  off  with  her  parcel 
in  her  arms,  Bergeounette  never  failed  to  imitate  the 
slow  and  heavy  sound  of  an  enormous  bell  beginning 
to  ring. 

Very  different  was  Mile.  Grance,  in  spite  of  her  fifty 
years  or  more.  Her  little,  well-made  body  was  in  per- 
fect harmony  with  her  simple  air  and  childish  voice, 
but  her  blouses  were  always  too  short  and  her  skirts 
swept  the  ends  of  thread  and  the  pins  that  lay  about 
the  floor. 

While  Mme.  Dalignac  was  examining  her  work  and 
preparing  more  for  her,  she  swayed  on  the  tips  of  her 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         199 

toes,  and  mumbled  quickly  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ceiling.  Duretour  crept  slyly  up  to  her  to  try  to  make 
out  what  she  was  saying,  but  she  did  not  manage  to 
do  so.  And  each  time  she  asked  her,  "  Are  you  saying 
a  prayer,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

Each  time,  too,  Mile.  Grance  lowered  her  eyes  sud- 
denly, as  though  astonished  at  finding  herself  there. 
She  smiled  without  replying,  and  went  on  with  her 
mumbling  and  her  swaying.  Then,  with  the  corners  of 
her  wrapper  tied  up  like  knots  of  ribbon,  she  carried 
off  her  parcel  and  kept  her  secret. 

Duretour  had  now  not  a  minute  to  lose.  She  brought 
the  materials  and  took  back  the  garments  by  cabfuls. 
The  cabbies  knew  her  well;  her  pretty  figure  and  her 
good  humor  brought  smiles  to  the  face  of  the  surliest, 
and  all  were  happy  to  take  her  in  spite  of  her  load  of 
parcels. 

At  the  workshop,  she  no  longer  had  time  to  describe 
her  Sunday  outings,  nor  to  enumerate  a  quantity  of 
dishes  unknown  to  us.  And  when,  on  Monday,  Ber- 
geounette  asked  her  as  of  old,  "  What  did  you  have  good 
to  eat  yesterday  ?  "  she  always  replied,  as  if  to\et  it 
over  quickly,  "  Stewed  pullet." 

But  although  she  no  longer  gave  herself  time  to  talk, 
she  made  up  for  it  with  cafe-concert  choruses;  and  as 
she  sewed  the  tickets  on  to  the  neck  of  the  garments, 
she  sang  in  a  quavering  voice  — 

"Paris,   Paris, 
Paradis  de  la  femme." 


200        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

Mme.  Dalignac  only  went  to  the  firm  of  Quibu  to 
show  her  samples  and  to  fix  their  price.  She  took  me 
with  her  to  give  her  more  assurance,  but  my  presence 
did  not  prevent  the  buyer  from  lowering  the  prices  by 
a  quarter,  when  it  was  not  a  half,  and  Mme.  Dalignac, 
who  was  unable  to  defend  her  own  interests  more  than 
five  minutes,  gave  way,  almost  ready  to  weep  for  im- 
potence. She  envied  the  other  women,  who  fought, 
shouted,  and  went  away,  having  almost  always  obtained 
what  they  desired.  One  of  them  especially  disputed 
fiercely  with  arguments  that  were  beside  the  point. 
And  red  and  out  of  breath,  she  always  finished  up  by 
saying  to  the  buyer,  "  You  only  have  the  trouble  of 
selling  here." 

During  the  hours  of  waiting,  the  women  talked 
among  themselves.  The  boldest  disparaged  the  firm  of 
Quibu,  and  their  advice  was  to  stand  up  to  it,  while 
the  timid  spoke  only  of  being  firm  with  the  workgirls. 

A  little,  gentle-looking  woman,  who  made  her  models 
in  a  series,  and  whose  prices  scarcely  varied,  said  in 
turn,  "  Once  upon  a  time,  I  was  content  with  a  deduc- 
tion of  fifty  centimes  for  each  garment  from  my  girls ; 
but  since  I've  had  a  child,  I've  doubled  it,  and  the  work 
goes  on  just  the  same." 

And  when  Mme.  Dalignac  asked  her  whether  her 
girls  earned  a  living,  she  replied,  "  I'm  certain  they 
don't ;  but  I  must  earn  mine." 

They  did  not  all  think  in  this  way ;  but  they  were  all 
astonished  because  Mme.  Dalignac  was  not  a  big  dress- 
maker, instead  of  a  contractor  for  fine  models. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         201 

Clement  was  also  astonished  to  see  his  aunt  continu- 
ing this  trade.  As  soon  as  he  had  returned  from  mili- 
tary service,  he  began  to  take  an  interest  in  the  business 
of  the  workshop,  and  Mme.  Dalignac  had  hoped  that 
he  would  replace  the  patron;  but  at  the  first  word  on 
this  subject,  Clement  had  shaken  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  be  master  in  my  house." 

And  a  few  days  afterwards  he  had  started  as  a  work- 
man with  an  upholsterer  on  the  big  boulevards.  On 
Sunday  morning,  while  we  were  cleaning  up  the  work- 
shop, he  put  the  account  books  in  order.  He  did  it 
quickly  and  much  better  than  we  did,  and  when  he 
had  made  out  the  very  complicated  accounts  of  the  firm 
of  Quibu,  he  asked  his  aunt,  "  Where's  your  profit  ?  " 

"  It  will  come,"  replied  Mme.  Dalignac. 

"  And  your  rent  which  is  behindhand  ?  " 

"  I'll  pay  it  soon." 

"  And  that  Jew's  machines  on  which  you  have  only 
paid  installments  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  he  won't  lose  anything." 

She  gave  all  these  replies  in  a  calm  voice,  as  if  they 
were  trifling  matters,  easy  of  arrangement.  But  the 
landlord  appeared  more  and  more  often  to  claim  his 
due,  and  the  Jew  came  each  Saturday  before  the  girls 
were  paid,  to  be  sure  of  carrying  away  a  small  sum. 

Mme.  Dalignac  did  not  seem  to  worry  herself  about 
their  demands.  She  spoke  only  of  creating  models, 
in  order  to  employ  a  lot  of  women.  Nothing  upset  her 
more  than  to  see  a  woman  go  away  with  an  empty 
wrapper.  To  those  in  the  workshop  she  said,  "  If  you 


202         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

don't  understand  anything,  don't  be  afraid  to  ask  me." 

And  she  demonstrated  and  explained  with  untiring 
patience. 

Her  gentleness  and  her  goodness  did  not  shield  her 
from  insults.  A  woman  who  looked  ill  came  in  one 
morning,  and  without  any  reason  began  to  ride  the  high 
horse.  She  seemed  to  have  entered  with  abuse  in  her 
mouth,  and  her  first  words  were,  "  It's  because  you're 
living  too  well  that  I  have  to  rot." 

Her  eyes  looked  dreadful  in  her  thin  face,  and  she 
began  to  faint  before  she  had  exhausted  her  anger. 

Mme.  Dalignac  stood  as  though  she  were  nailed  to 
her  place.  But  she  raised  a  finger  and  said,  "  Give  her 
a  glass  of  sugared  water." 

The  sick  woman  drank  slowly,  with  hiccoughs  of 
suffocation;  then  she  spat  the  last  mouthful  at  the  feet 
of  Mme.  Dalignac,  and  said  hatefully,  "  Take  that,  you 
evil  woman,  there's  your  glass  of  sugared  water." 

And  as  she  turned  too  quickly  to  go  away,  Mme. 
Dalignac  put  out  her  arm  sharply  to  save  her  from  the 
corner  of  the  table. 

Mme.  Double  was  no  less  astonished  than  Clement 
at  her  sister-in-law's  remaining  a  garment-maker.  For 
some  time  past,  she  had  been  offering  to  Mme.  Dalignac 
a  partnership,  which,  according  to  her,  would  bring 
them  both  a  large  clientele  and  a  very  comfortable  liv- 
ing. 

Mme.  Dalignac  would  create  the  models  and  see  to 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         203 

the  fitting,  and  Mme.  Double  would  keep  the  accounts 
and  would  look  after  the  workgirls. 

Immediately  after  the  patrons  death,  she  had  become 
our  neighbor,  had  Mme.  Double,  and  on  her  door,  which 
was  side  by  side  with  ours,  could  be  read  in  golden  let- 
ters these  two  names  coupled  together :  "  Double- 
Dai  ignac."  This  proximity  allowed  her  to  make  re- 
peated visits.  As  always,  she  took  occasion  on  these 
visits  to  criticize  everything  we  did,  and  when  she  found 
nothing  to  say  about  the  work  she  went  for  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac.  She  made  her  responsible  for  the  loss  of  her  cus- 
tomers, who  were  leaving  her  one  by  one,  because  she 
did  not  offer  them  the  varied  models  she  once  had.  And 
one  day,  when  she  was  more  cross  than  usual,  she  re- 
proved Mme.  Dalignac  for  her  lack  of  smartness,  and 
shamed  her  for  her  shabby  clothes. 

"  I'll  buy  others,"  said  Mme.  Dalignac  quietly. 

"With  what?  Good  Lord!  with  what?"  shouted 
Mme.  Double,  beside  herself. 

"  Why,  with  money,"  replied  Mme.  Dalignac  absent- 
mindedly. 

Mme.  Double  went  off  in  a  rage,  leaving  the  door 
open  behind  her. 

Gabielle  was  still  the  cleverest  workwoman.  She 
had  a  way  of  her  own  with  her  work  that  the  others 
imitated  without  ever  being  able  to  equal. 

She  had  come  back  to  her  machine  before  she  had 
quite  recovered ;  but  for  some  time  now  her  lovely  round 


204         MAKIE  CLAIEE'S  WOKKSHOP 

cheeks  and  her  gayety  had  returned  to  her.  It  was 
noticeable,  however,  that  her  blouse  was  tightly  but- 
toned, and  that  her  waist  was  firmly  encircled  by  a 
leather  belt. 

Jacques  still  hoped  that  she  would  become  his  wife, 
but,  although  she  did  not  avoid  him  as  before,  she  had 
none  the  more  any  apparent  intention  of  marrying  him. 
Her  thoughts  were  bent  solely  on  working  hard  and 
earning  enough  to  buy  furniture  which  would  allow 
her  to  leave  the  hotel  in  which  she  lived. 

The  unfortunate  Jacques  —  as  Mme.  Dalignac  called 
him  —  was  often  with  us,  and  he  continued  to  lament 
his  separation  from  his  children,  without  doing  any- 
thing to  end  it. 

Meeting  him  so  often  at  the  house,  Clement  had  finally 
made  friends  with  him,  and  he  brought  him  from  dif- 
ferent quarters  useful  pieces  of  information  concern- 
ing the  means  to  be  adopted  to  recover  the  children. 
Jacques  thanked  him  affectionately,  then  looked  towards 
Gabielle  and  said,  "  If  she  were  my  wife,  she  would 
know  how  to  go  about  it." 

Clement  also  thought  that  a  marriage  between 
Gabielle  and  Jacques  would  be  a  good  thing.  He  spoke 
to  me  about  it  in  this  way :  "  She  would  command, 
he  would  obey,  and  all  would  go  well." 

However,  as  this  marriage  seemed  less  and  less  possi- 
ble, Mme.  Dalignac  advised  Jacques  to  take  the  steps 
that  would  restore  his  children  to  him  as  quickly  as 
possible. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP        205 

"  Courage  !     Come !  "  she  said  to  him  one  day. 

Jacques  made  a  movement  with  his  whole  body,  as 
though  warding  off  something  or  other,  and  his  two 
arms  flung  before  him  made  me  think  of  the  little  mouse 
with  its  two  paws  stretched  towards  the  monster  that 
was  getting  ready  to  devour  it. 

"  Courage !  "  he  said,  sitting  down  heavily.  And 
he  began  to  weep. 

Clement  laughed  in  a  cruel,  contemptuous  way,  but 
Mme.  Dalignac  said  a  few  gentle  words  of  hope. 

Bouledogue  had  not,  like  Gabielle,  a  fund  of  ideas, 
but  her  delicate  fingers  cleverly  pushed  the  materials 
beneath  the  needle  of  the  machine,  and  her  hems  and 
seams  never  deviated  by  a  hair's-breadth.  She  no  longer 
growled  as  in  the  time  of  the  customers.  She  only 
took  up  a  large  amount  of  space  all  round  her,  with- 
out worrying  herself  whether  any  remained  for  her 
neighbors.  And  when  her  machine  went  wrong,  she 
abused  it,  and  hit  it  hard. 

Bergeounette  had  left  her  husband.  She  had  come 
out  of  their  last  battle  so  knocked  about  that  her  wounds 
had  taken  more  than  a  month  to  heal.  Feeling  her- 
self free,  she  was  filled  with  exuberant  joy.  She  moved 
her  elbows  about  like  wings  and  raised  her  feet  for 
no  reason. 

Her  husband,  all  repentance,  watched  for  her  as  she 
left  the  workshop,  in  the  hope  of  inducing  her  to  come 


206 

back.  But  she  would  not  be  moved.  He  could  be  seen 
at  times  when  he  should  have  been  at  his  work,  sitting 
on  a  bench  in  the  avenue  opposite  our  windows. 

Gabielle,  who  did  not  like  seeing  men  do  nothing, 
said,  "  What's  he  killing  time  there  for  ?  " 

"  Time  will  kill  him  too/'  replied  Bergeounette, 
laughing.  At  the  idea  of  seeing  her  husband  put  be- 
neath the  earth,  she  sang  gayly  — 

"  On  sonnera  les   cloches 
Avec  des  pots  casses." x 

Roberte,  who  had  not  lost  the  habit  of  blundering, 
said  of  Bergeounette,  "  She's  as  merry  as  a  brig  in  the 
water." 

Roberte's  stupid  sayings  always  made  the  others  laugh 
at  her  expense,  but  it  did  not  annoy  her.  She  struck 
a  pretentious  attitude  for  another  absurd  phrase,  and 
everything  was  said. 

On  the  other  hand,  Felicite  Damoure  took  very  ill 
any  imitation  of  her  accent,  and  her  disagreeable  re- 
marks kept  a  continual  cavil  going  in  her  neighborhood. 
She  took  very  ill,  too,  to  the  idea  of  a  workshop  where 
nobody  ruled,  and  where  each  worker  had  a  different 
way  of  doing  her  work.  In  the  bustle  of  the  moments 
of  delivery,  she  remained  bewildered,  and  always  when 
calm  had  returned  she  shouted  in  an  angry  voice, 
"  Where  there's  nobody  to  command,  there  is  only  dis- 
order." 

She  regretted  the  patron,  who  could  command  and 

i "  They   will  sound  the  bells  with  broken  pots." 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         207 

put  everybody  in  her  place,  and  she  sometimes  tried 
to  imitate  him;  but  there  was  no  lack  of  rejoinder. 
Bergeounette  did  not  spare  her  raillery. 

"  Only  one  order  from  you,  beautiful  Damoure,"  she 
said,  "  and  disorder  would  come  up  at  the  gallop." 

And  as  Felicite  Damoure  did  not  know  what  to  reply 
to  Bergeounette,  she  decided  to  laugh  with  the  others. 

"  It's  always  the  same  thing  here,"  she  said.  "  When 
you  think  you've  made  a  girl,  you've  only  made  a 
boy." 

Among  the  women  who  were  too  near  to  one  another, 
there  was  no  lack  of  quarrels.  They  broke  out  with- 
out any  one's  knowing  why,  and  the  girl  who  shouted 
the  loudest  was  not  always  the  one  in  the  right. 

Mme.  Dalignac  stopped  the  hubbub  merely  by  ap- 
pearing at  the  door.  Leaning  with  both  hands  on  the 
door-posts,  she  was  so  tall,  so  calm  and  so  serious  that 
the  shouts  changed  immediately  into  murmurs. 

When  everything  was  quiet,  she  said  slowly,  "  Try 
to  love  each  other  a  little  then." 

At  evening,  I  found  Mile.  Herminie  in  my  room. 
Her  health  no  longer  permitted  her  to  come  to  the 
workshop,  and  the  work  she  brought  home  was  never 
finished  in  time.  At  the  end  of  the  day  she  came  to 
meet  me,  and  we  came  gently  back  up  the  avenue. 

Oh,  how  old  she  was  now!  Her  blue  eyes,  which 
had  been  so  clear  a  few  months  before,  seemed  quite 
dimmed,  and  instead  of  lips  she  had  what  looked  like 
two  thin  rose-leaves  rolled  up  and  dry.  Her  character 


208        MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WOEKSHOP 

was  changing  too.  She  became  angry  over  nothing. 
Little  ridiculous  angers  in  which  her  weak  voice  spoke 
only  of  killing. 

Even  a  poor  lank  cat  that  came  timidly  along  the 
gutter  to  beg  at  our  window  roused  her  anger  and  made 
her  say,  "  Oh,  that  cat,  I'll  kill  it  thrice !  " 

Her  back  became  more  bent,  and  she  lost  conscious- 
ness of  herself  for  whole  days  together.  On  those  days, 
she  remained  in  bed  without  anger  or  care;  but  the 
moment  her  reason  returned  she  left  her  bed  in  fear  of 
death. 

"  Why  die  ?  "  she  said. 

To  hear  her  you  would  have  thought  that  it  was  easy 
to  avoid  that  misfortune. 

She  no  longer  spoke  of  her  past.  Once  only,  in  a 
moment  of  distress,  she  had  made  an  allusion  to  our 
journey,  saying,  "  I've  destroyed  everything,  and  I  no 
longer  know  where  to  rest." 

She,  who  had  been  so  curious,  no  longer  took  an 
interest  in  anything.  Outside,  she  walked  with  lowered 
head,  and  in  the  house  she  dozed,  leaning  against  the 
back  of  her  chair,  or  buried  in  her  old  armchair.  My 
future  marriage  even  left  her  indifferent,  and  she 
scarcely  looked  at  Clement.  Only  a  young  negro,  who 
passed  in  the  opposite  direction  to  us,  brought  her  out  of 
her  torpor.  Mile.  Herminie  did  not  like  negroes,  and 
at  each  meeting  she  said  disagreeable  things  about  this 
one.  Yet  the  black  face  of  the  young  man  had  a  kind 
of  good  humor  on  it,  and  you  might  have  said  that  he 
kept  a  smile  ready  for  us  as  we  passed.  Mile.  Her- 


209 

minie's  hatred  was  increased  by  this  smile,  and  one  eve- 
ning when  a  block  in  the  traffic  held  us  up  near  the 
negro,  she  said  to  him  shamelessly,  "  You  didn't  clean 
yourself  up  this  morning." 

"  !No,  it  was  too  cold,"  he  replied,  smiling  broadly. 

His  voice  was  harmonious  and  he  had  no  foreign 
accent.  I  pointed  this  out  to  Mile.  Herminie,  who  re- 
fused to  agree  with  me,  and  replied  harshly,  "  One 
would  think  that  you  preferred  him  to  Clement." 

She  made  an  excuse  for  her  hastiness,  but  at  the  same 
moment  I  understood  that  the  negro's  face  was  as  pleas- 
ant to  me  to  see  as  any  other  amiable  face. 

The  heavy  colds  put  a  stop  to  Mile.  Herminie's  out- 
ings; but  I  always  came  back  to  her  with  the  same 
pleasure.  The  care  I  gave  to  her  made  me  forget  all 
that  had  upset  me  during  the  day,  and  I  desired  noth- 
ing more  than  that  she  should  be  content. 

It  was  not  the  same  with  the  poor  old  lady.  Her 
face  scarcely  showed  any  emotion  when  I  arrived,  and 
I  soon  perceived  that  the  long  hours  of  solitude  were 
little  by  little  affecting  her  faculties. 

One  evening,  she  said  to  me  in  confidence,  "  I'm 
fifty-three  years  old  to-day." 

She  bent  on  me  a  look  so  changed  that  it  frightened 
me.  For  a  whole  week,  she  repeated,  "  I'm  fifty-three 
years  old  to-day." 

Then  she  forgot  my  presence.  While  I  was  speak- 
ing to  her,  she  went  out  on  to  the  landing  to  listen  for 
my  footsteps  on  the  staircase,  or  else  she  opened  the 
window  to  try  to  see  me  coming  in  the  distance,  and 


210         MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

often  with  vague  eyes  and  a  listening  ear,  she  murmured 
a  childish  round  — 

"  Reviens,  reviens,  c'est  I'heure 
Ou  le  loup  sort  du  bois."  1 

Soon  she  refused  to  eat,  and  she  went  out  into  the 
streets  half-dressed.  She  had  to  be  taken  to  an  asylum. 

Clement  was  getting  more  and  more  anxious  about 
Mme.  Dalignac's  debts.  He  spread  before  her  papers 
covered  with  figures,  and  said,  "  You  don't  earn  more 
than  your  workgirls." 

"  It's  enough  for  me,"  replied  Mme.  Dalignac. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Clement  looked  at  her  with  a 
little  contempt  at  those  moments.  One  Sunday,  when 
we  were  alone  for  a  moment,  he  lost  his  temper. 

"  Her  debts  mount  up  and  mount  up.  .  .  .  She's 
running  her  business  badly,  and  she  won't  change," 
he  said. 

He  struck  the  papers,  then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  said,  "  You  see,  Marie  Claire,  my  aunt  doesn't  love 
herself,  and  when  people  don't  love  themselves  they 
never  get  anywhere." 

I  ventured  to  defend  her. 

"  She  manages  to  make  a  living  for  thirty  workgirls," 
I  said. 

He  became  impatient.  "  Nobody  obliges  her  to,"  he 
said.  "  Let  her  make  a  living  for  herself  first  of  all." 

i "  Come  back,  come  back :  it  is  the  hour  when  the  wolf  comes 
out  of  the  wood." 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         211 

And  lie  threatened  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the 
workshop's  accounts. 

However,  he  came  with  us  on  the  following  day  to 
Quibu's.  His  presence  made  Mme.  Dalignac  bold,  and 
she  maintained  her  prices  as  I  had  never  seen  her  do 
before. 

The  buyer  replied  politely  first  of  all,  with  his  usual 
air  of  condescension;  then  he  became  firmer,  and  as 
she  did  not  yield,  he  became  hard  and  said  insolently, 
"  Is  it  you  who  have  the  trouble  of  selling  your 
models  ? " 

Mme.  Dalignac  would  not  have  colored  more  deeply 
if  she  had  been  accused  of  theft.  She  had  that  shrink- 
ing of  the  shoulders  which  I  knew  so  well,  and  all  was 
finished.  On  the  way  out,  Clement  sided  with  the 
buyer. 

"  H e  doesn't  leave  his  share  to  others,"  he  said. 
"  And  I'll  do  the  same  when  I'm  my  own  master." 

And  as  we  were  walking  quickly,  he  made  us  slacken 
our  pace,  and  added,  "  You  must  always  pull  the  covers 
your  side." 

I  sought  Mme.  Dalignac's  eyes,  but  did  not  meet 
them.  They  were  looking  gayly  and  kindly  on  her 
nephew. 

"  You'll  become  rich,  you  will,"  she  said  to  him. 
And  her  pretty  laughter  made  the  passersby  turn  round. 

On  each  of  his  visits,  the  landlord,  who  received  only 
small  installments  of  his  rent,  said  to  Mme,  Dalignac, 
"  You'll  finish  by  tiring  my  patience." 


212         MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

She  was  lost  in  confusion,  although  she  had  given 
her  last  halfpenny:  which  embarrassed  her  very  much 
while  waiting  for  the  payments  of  the  firm  of  Quibu. 

The  landlord  did  not  look  a  bad  man.  He  was  about 
fifty  years  of  age,  and  his  too  black  hair  shone  as 
brightly  as  his  boots,  and  his  mustache  was  too  shiny 
also. 

Duretour  made  fun  of  his  clinging  jacket,  and  Ber- 
geounette,  who  had  nicknamed  him  M.  Pritout,  said 
that  he  looked  like  an  old  piece  of  furniture  on  which 
a  pot  of  varnish  had  been  allowed  to  fall. 

Listening  to  them,  Mme.  Dalignac  laughed  and  be- 
came calm  again.  She  was  convinced  that  the  abun- 
dance of  work  would  give  her  the  means  to  free  herself 
rapidly  from  all  her  debts.  And  seeing  her  so  tran- 
quil, I  convinced  myself  that  nothing  serious  could 
threaten  her. 

M.  Pritout's  patience  soon  tired,  and  legal  notices 
began  to  arrive.  Mme.  Dalignac  scarcely  read  them. 
She  struck  them  on  a  nail  with  other  papers  of  no  im- 
portance and  forgot  them  immediately. 

Clement,  who  read  them  attentively,  was  frightened 
by  them,  and  asked  Mme.  Double's  advice.  But  Mme. 
Double  did  not  give  any  advice;  she  contented  herself 
by  reproaching  her  sister-in-law  and  renewing  her  offers. 

She  came  in  one  Sunday  morning,  with  a  bold  face 
and  a  resolute  voice. 

"  "We  must  come  to  some  understanding  about  this 
partnership,"  she  said. 

And  at  once  she  brought  out  a  square  of  white  card- 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         213 

board  on  which  she  had  written  in  black  letters: 
"  Double-Dalignac  Sisters." 

The  expression  of  tiredness  that  spread  over  Mme. 
Dalignac's  face  was  so  real  that  Mme.  Double  lost  a 
little  of  her  arrogance,  and  said  in  a  less  harsh  voice, 
"  I'll  pay  your  debts  and  we'll  return  the  machines 
to  that  Jew." 

Mme.  Dalignac  remained  silent.  As  often  happened 
to  her  at  moments  of  great  emotion,  she  seemed  to  have 
lost  the  use  of  her  voice. 

"  It's  in  your  interest,"  went  on  Mme.  Double.  And 
without  losing  a  moment,  she  explained  her  plans  for 
dividing  up  the  rooms  of  the  flat. 

"  The  cutting-room  will  remain  here,  but  the  work- 
shop will  become  a  fitting-room,  in  which  I'll  have  a 
door  leading  from  my  rooms  to  yours." 

She  rose  to  explain  her  meaning  and  to  point  out 
the  spot  she  had  chosen ;  and,  with  a  large  piece  of  red 
chalk,  she  drew  on  the  wall  the  shape  of  a  large  open- 
ing. 

Clement  had  listened  without  saying  anything,  but, 
when  he  saw  Mme.  Dalignac  carefully  wipe  out  the 
red  marks,  he  began  to  speak. 

He  told  his  aunt  how  her  pretty  models  were  given 
the  front  place  in  the  windows  of  the  big  shops;  he 
had  noted  their  high  prices,  and  he  thought  it  unjust 
that  so  much  toil  and  skill  should  only  benefit  others; 
while  in  the  partnership,  Double-Dalignac  Sisters,  he 
foresaw  quick  and  certain  profits. 

"  You  know  how  to  work,"  he  added,  bending  affec- 


214        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

tionately  over  Mme.  Dalignac.  "  Mme.  Double  knows 
how  to  sell.  .  .  .  Between  you,  you  could  make  a  for- 
tune." 

For  the  first  time  I  saw  Mme.  Dalignac  make  a  move- 
ment of  revolt. 

"  Don't  insist,  Clement,"  she  said.     "  It's  useless." 

Clement  did  not  insist,  but  with  one  movement  he 
broke  the  French  chalk  into  three  pieces. 

Mme.  Dalignac  picked  up  the  three  pieces,  which  she 
tossed  mechanically  in  her  hands. 

"  Double-Dalignac  Sisters,"  she  said.  She  laughed 
a  little  and  then  threw  away  the  pieces. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  it,"  she  said  firmly. 

It  was  Mme.  Double's  turn  to  remain  speechless. 
She  rose  with  a  violent  movement,  and  returned  to  her 
own  room. 

Mme.  Dalignac  breathed  more  freely;  and  suddenly, 
all  her  tranquillity  returning,  she  embraced  her  nephew. 

"  Have  confidence,  Clement,"  she  said.  "  I've  plenty 
of  courage." 

Accompanying  me  up  the  avenue,  Clement  said  to 
me,  "  I  had  counted  on  her  to  set  me  up,  but  I  can 
quite  see  that  I  must  give  up  that  idea."  And  he  took 
my  arm  as  familiarly  as  if  we  were  already  married. 

He  often  accompanied  me  afterwards.  Our  conver- 
sations differed  little.  They  were  always  about  a  shop 
to  be  taken  and  the  work  we  should  do. 

"  From  my  master's  customers,"  he  said,  "  I'm  choos- 
ing those  who  will  become  mine."  And  he  stopped  to 
write  a  name  in  his  notebook.  On  another  leaf  of  his 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP        215 

notebook,  he  made  a  list  of  all  the  articles  he  would 
ask  his  aunt  for,  to  set  up  our  house.  I  was  shocked 
by  this. 

"  But  she  needs  those  things,"  I  said. 

"  So  do  I,"  he  replied.  Then  he  told  me  what  ar- 
ticles I  should  have  to  ask  for  myself. 

I  refused.  He  was  astonished  at  my  resistance,  and 
said  to  me  almost  annoyed,  "  I  thought  you  were  more 
intelligent." 

Meeting  the  negro  became  another  subject  of  dispute 
between  us.  No  more  than  Mile.  Herminie,  could  he 
bear  the  sight  of  the  poor  boy,  who,  however,  refrained 
from  smiling  when  Clement  was  with  me.  But  one 
evening  when  he  thought  me  alone,  his  mouth  opened 
wide  and  fresh,  and  his  eyes  rested  a  moment  on  mine. 

Clement,  who  was  only  a  few  yards  behind,  said  some- 
thing insulting  which  made  the  mouth  close  abruptly 
and  the  eyes  turn  away. 

I  was  displeased  and  hurt,  and,  on  the  following  day, 
on  perceiving  the  young  negro,  I  felt  remorseful,  as  if 
it  had  been  I  who  had  given  offense.  He  gave  me  no 
smile,  although  I  was  alone.  Sadness  had  drawn  a  kind 
of  very  gentle  veil  over  his  black  pupils. 

"  I  have  red  blood  too,"  he  said  to  me  as  he  passed, 
"  and  my  hands  are  not  dirty." 

I  had  a  new  friend.  Perhaps  she  was  already  in  my 
room  in  Mile.  Herminie's  time,  but  I  had  not  noticed 
her  until  after  the  latter's  departure.  It  was  a  fly. 
Quite  a  little  fly,  clean,  dainty,  quick  and  confiding. 


216        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

As  soon  as  the  stove  was  lit,  it  came  out  of  its  hiding- 
place,  and  made  its  music  heard. 

"  Good  evening,  little  fly,"  I  said  to  it. 

It  flew  from  my  head  to  my  hands,  or  else  it  turned 
untiringly  about  the  lamp.  But  it  was  at  meals  that 
it  kept  rne  company  especially.  Everything  that  was 
on  the  table  served  to  amuse  it.  It  passed  over  the 
glass  of  water,  climbed  up  the  loaf  of  bread,  and  bal- 
anced on  the  points  of  the  fork.  It  disdained  the 
crumbs  that  I  placed  about  for  it,  and  preferred  to 
search  about  the  table-cloth  for  things  to  its  taste. 
Sometimes,  it  came  to  inspect  what  I  had  on  my  plate. 
Making  first  of  all  a  tour  of  it  round  the  edge,  it  then 
advanced  cautiously,  tasted,  shook  its  head  as  if  to  say 
that  there  was  nothing  good  there,  and  returned  to  the 
table-cloth,  where  it  ran  about  in  every  direction. 
Sometimes,  it  seemed  to  be  pursuing  a  prey.  It  rushed 
forward  at  such  a  pace  that  it  overshot  the  mark.  It 
then  made  a  sudden  backward  movement,  and,  after  a 
few  wild  jumps,  it  seemed  to  be  enjoying  a  delicious 
dish.  I  looked  at  it  very  closely.  I  even  took  Mile. 
Herminie's  spectacles  to  try  to  see  what  it  was  that  was 
such  a  treat  to  it,  but  I  saw  only  its  slender  proboscis 
which  it  plunged  into  the  threads  of  the  cloth,  and  its 
round  head,  in  which  the  eyes  took  up  by  far  the  greatest 
place. 

Its  dinner  finished,  it  smoothed  its  wings  for  a  long 
time,  rubbed  its  legs  carefully,  and  stood  quietly  on 
the  book  I  was  reading  or  on  the  paper  on  which  I  was 
writing. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         217 

One  evening  in  May  a  heavy,  heated  smoke  entered 
the  workshop  like  a  squall. 

"  It's  a  fire !  "  shouted  Felicite  Damoure. 

Immediately,  all  the  workgirls  rose.  Gabielle,  who 
had  followed  the  others,  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  It's  the  sawmill  opposite  that's  burning,"  she  said 
leisurely. 

There  was  no  danger  for  us;  the  sawmill  was  some- 
what withdrawn  from  the  avenue.  It  was  only  neces- 
sary to  keep  the  windows  closed  as  a  protection  against 
the  smoke.  However,  as  there  was  a  large  quantity  of 
wood  in  flames,  and  the  wind  blew  them  in  our  direction, 
the  firemen  began  to  pump  water  over  the  entire  front 
of  our  house. 

"  Cover  the  materials,"  said  Mme.  Dalignac. 

And  she  herself  began  to  pile  up  the  pieces  of  mate- 
rial, while  Bergeounette  helped  me  to  pick  up  the  work 
which  the  frightened  girls  had  abandoned.  During  this 
time,  Gabielle,  with  her  sleeves  turned  up  very  high  and 
her  skirt  rolled  round  her  hips,  mopped  up  the  water 
that  entered  in  spite  of  the  shut  windows.  And  every 
time  that  she  saw  flaming  wood  fly  into  the  air  throw- 
ing out  a  rain  of  sparks,  she  laughed  aloud,  and  said, 
"  Well  played,  Mr.  Fire." 

Mme.  Double  had  hastily  sent  away  her  workgirls. 
Her  room  looked  out  on  the  courtyard,  and  did  not  even 
receive  the  jet  from  the  pumps.  But  she  was  afraid, 
with  a  fear  that  made  her  stupid  and  humble,  and  had 
caused  her  to  take  shelter  with  us.  She  remained  near 
the  door  without  daring  to  go  out  or  come  in,  and  her 


218         MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

terrified  air  changed  her  so  much  that  Duretour  jostled 
her,  and  Bergeounette  said  to  me,  "  She  couldn't  even 
return  a  smack  in  the  face." 

Every  time  that  the  flames  mounted  higher  or  that 
the  smoke  increased,  Mme.  Double  recovered  a  little 
of  her  voice  to  say,  "  It  will  all  catch." 

According  to  her,  the  neighboring  houses  would  catch 
fire,  ours  as  well,  and  the  whole  quarter  would  go  up 
in  flames.  The  workgirls  looked  at  her,  ready  to  be- 
lieve, but  Bergeounette  reassured  them. 

"  Don't  listen  to  her !  She's  only  an  idiot  who's 
afraid,"  she  said. 

She  went  from  one  to  the  other ;  her  step  was  as  firm 
as  her  voice,  and  her  movements  were  like  orders. 

Bouledogue,  a  clean  duster  in  her  hands,  was  polish- 
ing the  nickeled  wheel  of  her  machine. 

Mme.  Dalignac  did  not  stir,  but  nothing  escaped  her 
quiet  eyes.  The  fire  was  becoming  rapidly  less,  and 
the  smoke  began  to  disperse. 

In  our  house,  the  firemen  were  going  up  and  down 
inspecting  the  damage  done  by  the  water.  One  of  them, 
a  young  sergeant  with  a  fresh  face,  entered  our  rooms. 
He  sat  down  familiarly  on  the  flap  of  a  sewing-machine, 
whence  he  could  see  the  heart  of  the  fire,  which  red- 
dened in  the  coming  darkness. 

"  It  could  not  hold  out  long,"  he  said  to  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac, "  all  the  nozzles  worked  well." 

He  laughed  when  he  perceived  Gabielle  standing  near 
him. 

"  I  didn't  know  there  were  such  pretty  nozzles  in 


MAKIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         219 

Montparnasse,"  he  went  on  gayly.  He  laughed  again 
and  Gabielle  did  the  same. 

Both  stood  looking  at  each  other  and  laughing;  then 
Gabielle's  face  suddenly  became  serious  and  troubled, 
and  she  bent  down  to  look  for  something  on  the  floor 
that  was  not  there. 

Other  firemen  entered.  A  big  blond  had  his  breeches, 
which  were  torn  at  the  knee,  sewn  up,  and  a  little  dark 
man  demanded  help  with  his  sleeve,  which  held  to  the 
shoulder  only  by  a  thread. 

The  needles  had  to  be  forced  into  the  wet  cloth,  and 
for  half-an-hour  there  were  broad  jokes  and  noisy  laugh- 
ter. But  on  their  departure,  the  young  sergeant  was 
the  only  one  to  say  au  revoir. 

We  did  in  fact  see  him  again.  On  the  following 
day,  when  the  girls  left  work,  he  was  on  the  opposite 
pavement,  as  if  he  had  been  told  to  look  after  the  ruins 
of  the  sawmill. 

"  It's  for  me  he's  come,"  said  Gabielle  to  us. 

And  she  immediately  became  transported  with  joy. 
She  waited,  however,  until  he  had  gone  away  before  she 
went  down.  She  did  the  same  on  the  following  day, 
but  on  the  third  day,  when  she  saw  him  approaching 
our  house,  she  lost  her  head. 

"  How  can  I  escape  him  ?  "  she  said.  And  she  begged 
us,  Bergeounette  and  me,  to  tell  the  young  man  that  she 
was  no  longer  employed  in  the  workshop. 

It  was  to  me  that  the  fireman  addressed  himself. 

"  Mademoiselle.  Tell  me,  the  pretty  girl.  .  .  . 
Doesn't  she  work  upstairs  any  longer  ? " 


220        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

He  looked  so  honest  and  so  anxious  that  I  took  no 
notice  of  Gabielle's  injunctions. 

"  Yes/'  I  said,  "  but  she  leaves  late  because  she's 
afraid  of  you." 

"  Afraid  of  me !  "  he  exclaimed.  And  his  anxiety 
seemed  to  increase  as  he  went  on.  "  But  it's  because  I 
want  to  marry  her  that  I'm  trying  to  speak  to  her." 
He  laughed  and  added,  "  There's  not  one  of  my  mates 
has  a  wife  so  beautiful." 

j\nd  immediately  he  gave  me  his  name  and  ad- 
dress. 

Gabielle  was  not  so  glad  as  we  hoped  at  this  news. 
She  at  once  forgot  all  the  happiness  she  had  conjured 
up,  and  thought  only  of  her  adventure  at  the  Bal  Bullier. 

"  Before  all,"  she  said,  "  he  must  know  the  truth." 

And  in  spite  of  Bergeounette's  shrugs,  she  wrote  a 
letter  in  which  she  told  very  simply  the  story  of  her 
misfortune,  and  in  which  she  confessed  with  the  same 
frankness  the  love  which  the  sergeant  had  inspired  in 
her. 

Several  days  passed;  then  Gabielle,  who  watched 
the  avenue,  perceived  one  evening  the  young  sergeant 
leaning  against  a  tree  some  distance  off.  She  blushed 
violently,  and  turned  towards  us  a  little  to  say,  "  He 
despises  me  like  the  others." 

And  quivering  all  over,  she  implored  me  to  go  for 
the  answer. 

"  You  would  do  better  to  go  yourself,"  advised  Mme. 
Dalignac. 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Gabielle.     "If  he  touched  me 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         221 

only  with  the  tip  of  his  fingers,  I  feel  that  I  should  be 
lost." 

I,  too,  was  eager  to  know  the  reply,  and,  as  I  took 
the  letter  which  the  fireman  held  out  to  me,  I  asked, 
"  Are  you  still  decided  to  marry  ?  " 

"  lsTo,"  he  said. 

I  went  off  so  quickly  that  he  had  to  run  a  few  paces 
to  catch  me  up.  People  passed  between  us,  while  he 
repeated,  "  Excuse  me,  excuse  me,  mademoiselle." 

I  stopped.  He  stood  abashed  before  me;  then  anger 
made  him  raise  his  fist,  and  a  flood  of  red  passed  over 
his  face  while  he  explained. 

"  You  understand  ?  "  he  said.  "  Her  fault  would 
be  soon  known;  my  mates  would  laugh  at  me,  and  no- 
body would  respect  us." 

He  suddenly  seemed  to  me  as  wretched  as  Gabielle, 
and  I  left  him  without  ill-will. 

For  a  whole  week,  Gabielle  laughed  in  a  way  that 
made  us  look  at  her  each  time  it  was  heard.  Then  one 
evening  she  stayed  behind  again  to  say  to  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac,  "  I  should  like  to  speak  to  Jacques  about  our  mar- 
riage." 


XVIII 

THE  seizure  of  her  furniture  surprised  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac  like  a  catastrophe.  She  consulted  her  books  atten- 
tively, compared  her  expenses  with  "her  earnings,  added 
up  the  sums  she  owed,  and  understood  at  last  that  she 
had  made  a  mistake  in  counting  only  on  her  courage 
and  her  goodwill.  She  understood  at  the  same  time 
that  her  workshop  was  about  to  be  destroyed,  and  that 
her  girls  would  be  out  of  work.  Then  she  accused 
herself  of  negligence.  And  at  the  thought  that  all  was 
lost  by  her  fault,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  wept. 

Clement  was  dumfounded  by  the  bad  news.  In  spite 
of  all,  he  had  held  to  the  hope  that  his  aunt  would  pros- 
per. And  if  he  did  not  weep  as  she  did,  he  too  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands. 

When  he  was  calmer,  he  tried  to  find  a  remedy  for 
the  evil  in  the  house.  He  found  no  other  than  the 
Double-Dalignac  Sisters  partnership.  He  recalled 
Mme.  Double's  words :  "  I  will  pay  your  debts  and 
we'll  return  the  machines  to  that  Jew."  And  what  he 
said  afterwards  was  so  just  and  so  reassuring  for  the 
future  that  Mme.  Dalignac  was  convinced  and  gave  way. 

Her  tranquillity  was  not  of  long  duration,  for  the 

next  day  she  regretted  her  promise. 

222 


MAEIE  CLAIKE'S  WORKSHOP         223 

"  "With  her,"  she  said  in  anguish,  "  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  do  anything  well.  When  she  is  near  me,  it 
seems  to  me  that  she  is  shutting  the  door  of  my  brain, 
and  that  she  keeps  the  key  in  her  pocket." 

Other  torments  came  to  harass  her.  What  would  be- 
come of  Bouledogue  and  Bergeounette  ?  She  knew 
quite  well  that  neither  would  enter  the  workshop  next 
door.  Then  she  saw  herself  alone  in  the  rooms  that  had 
been  always  so  noisy.  She  imagined  the  communicating 
door  opening  at  any  moment  to  allow  Mme.  Double  to 
pass  with  her  demands.  And  before  the  unpleasant- 
nesses which  the  Double-Dalignac  Sisters  partnership 
was  about  to  bring  to  her,  she  lost  courage  and  said, 
"  Oh,  dear !  Oh,  dear !  How  difficult  it  is  to  live !  " 

Her  grief  did  not  diminish.  Mme.  Double,  who 
could  no  more  hide  her  joy  than  she  could  her  anger, 
increased  it  by  her  familiarities  and  advice,  and  Mme. 
Dalignac's  beautiful  face  faded  quickly. 

An  idea  occurred  to  me.  The  amounts  which  our 
old  customers  had  not  paid  more  than  covered  the  few 
thousand  francs  owed  by  Mme.  Dalignac,  and  if  we 
could  collect  this  money  all  would  be  saved. 

Mme.  Dalignac  refused  to  try  this  means. 

"  Not  one  of  those  ladies  would  consent  to  pay  for 
a  worn-out  dress,"  she  said  to  me. 

However,  on  the  day  on  which  she  was  to  sign  the 
deed  of  partnership,  her  grief  became  so  keen  that  I 
set  off  with  the  invoices  without  heeding  her. 

The  first  customer  on  whom  I  called  was  very  aston- 
ished, and  promised  to  write  to  Mme.  Dalignac.  The 


224         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

second  laughed  very  much,  and  recalled  her  maid,  who 
returned  sulky  and  furious  to  push  me  outside.  The 
third  said,  "  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

I  went  from  one  to  the  other,  and  was  received  with 
the  same  regrets  or  indignation,  but  I  was  not  dis- 
couraged. Cost  what  may,  I  must  have  money.  I  had 
kept  to  the  last  the  heaviest  sum  of  money,  and  my 
hope  grew.  The  customer  lived  in  the  best  part  of  the 
Champs-Elysees,  and  she  bore  several  names  and  titles 
that  Duretour  had  transformed  into  Mme.  de  Thingum- 
bob. 

The  chambermaid  disappeared  with  the  invoice,  and 
returned  saying  that  her  mistress  was  out.  My  con- 
fidence was  so  great  that  I  determined  to  await  the 
return  of  the  rich  customer.  I  waited  a  long  time, 
so  long  that  the  silence  suddenly  frightened  me,  and 
that  I  perceived  that  it  was  dark  in  the  vestibule.  I 
became  anxious  about  the  time,  and  I  moved  in  the 
hope  of  making  some  one  come.  Almost  immediately 
I  heard  footsteps,  and  I  recognized  the  voice  of  Mme. 
de  Thingumbob  asking,  "  Is  that  dressmaker  still  wait- 
ing?" 

There  was  a  buzzing  in  my  ears,  and  before  it  had 
stopped  the  same  voice  went  on,  "  Send  her  away  then." 

Outside,  I  stood  as  though  stunned.  The  tall  electric 
lamps  dazzled  me  with  their  light,  and  I  did  not  know 
in  which  direction  to  turn  to  get  back  to  the  Avenue 
du  Maine.  I  wanted  to  sit  down  on  a  bench  to  try  to 
straighten  out  my  thoughts,  but  a  fear  of  myself  started 
me  off  again. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         225, 

It  seemed  to  me  that  my  thoughts  turned  round  in 
my  head  with  a  frightful  speed,  and  that  nothing  hence- 
forth could  stop  them. 

On  my  return,  I  found  Clement  and  Mme.  Double 
sitting  one  on  each  side  of  Mme.  Dalignac.  Both  had 
red  faces  like  people  who  have  spoken  a  good  deal,  but 
although  Mme.  Dalignac  was  still  pale,  I  was  surprised 
to  see  that  her  face  was  no  longer  contracted,  and  that 
on  the  contrary  it  had  upon  it  the  reflection  of  a  great 
contentment. 

Her  eyes  rested  only  a  moment  on  the  invoices  I  held 
in  my  hand.  She  made  a  movement  of  the  hand  to- 
wards Clement  that  I  did  not  understand.  Then  she 
took  the  pen,  dipped  it  twice  in  the  inkwell,  and  signed 
the  paper  that  was  before  her. 

Outside  in  the  avenue,  Clement  informed  me  with 
tumultuous  joy  that  his  aunt  had  given  her  signature 
willingly  because  Mme.  Double  had  promised  to  advance 
the  money  necessary  for  the  opening  of  an  upholsterer's 
shop.  And  as  I  did  not  rejoice  with  him  he  said  to  me 
unpleasantly,  "  She's  not  to  be  pitied.  Mme.  Double 
will  know  how  to  make  her  rich." 

It  was  not  possible  to  shut  immediately  the  garment- 
making  workshop,  as  Mme.  Double  desired.  The  con- 
tract with  the  firm  of  Quibu  had  to  take  its  course  until 
the  exhaustion  of  the  models,  which  would  not  happen 
until  the  end  of  the  year,  and  we  were  only  at  the  be- 
ginning of  October. 

Mme.  Dalignac,  however,  warned  the  workgirls,  in 
order  that  those  who  wished  to  leave  immediately 


226        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

might  do  so.  But  they  all  decided  to  remain  till  the 
end. 

"  He !  pardi !  we're  not  in  a  hurry  to  be  badly  off," 
said  Felicite  Damoure. 

Roberte  wriggled  about  a  long  time  before  saying, 
"  I'm  not  consummated  with  desire  to  go  to  another 
mistress." 

Bouledogue  desired  above  all  to  possess  a  machine 
which  would  permit  her  to  work  at  home  and  look  after 
her  grandmother. 

Duretour  talked  about  getting  married  at  Christmas, 
and  Bergeounette  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  anything 
rather  than  return  to  her  husband. 

Mme.  Dalignac  paid  attention  to  what  each  said. 
She  loved  them,  and  it  made  her  suffer  to  separate  from 
them.  They  were  there,  with  their  different  characters, 
good  or  bad,  sad  or  gay,  silly  or  intelligent,  but  all  of 
good  courage  and  hard  workers. 

There  was  the  beautiful  Vitaline,  who  reminded  you 
of  a  well-cut  diamond.  Her  hair  and  eyes  shone,  her 
teeth  shone.  Her  complexion  shone,  and  when  she 
moved  she  seemed  to  throw  light  on  her  companions. 

There  was  Julia,  who  in  the  evenings  was  a  super  in 
the  theaters,  to  earn  the  money  to  buy  patent  boots 
and  kid  gloves.  The  boots,  which  she  wore  too  small, 
tortured  her  feet,  and  the  gloves,  which  she  wore  too 
tight,  deformed  her  hands,  but  for  nothing  in  the  world 
would  she  have  changed  the  size  of  either  article. 

There  was  also  Fernande,  who  lunched  on  three  lumps 


MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP         227 

of  sugar  in  a  glass  of  spirits,  because  she  lost  each  Sun- 
day at  the  races  the  little  money  which  she  earned  dur- 
ing the  week. 

There  was,  too,  Mimi,  the  orphan  who  was  not  yet 
sixteen,  and  who  was  supporting  her  little  sister. 

And  in  the  farthest  corner,  at  the  spot  where  there 
was  least  daylight,  there  was  the  beggar.  She  was  as 
dim  as  Vitaline  was  bright,  and  she  had  a  way  of  look- 
ing at  you  which  was  like  an  outstretched  hand.  Her 
whining  voice  often  made  the  others  snub  her.  And 
Bergeounette,  who  detested  her,  accused  her  of  holding 
out  one  hand  in  front  and  the  other  behind. 

One  day  when  she  lingered  behind  at  the  hour  of 
noon,  I  could  not  bear  her  imploring  face,  and  with 
a  rapid  movement  I  passed  her  my  purse  containing 
several  francs.  She  went  off  immediately,  but  instead 
of  going  out  by  the  usual  door,  she  crossed  the  cutting- 
room,  where  I  heard  her  stop  for  a  few  seconds. 

I  followed  her,  and  I  was  about  to  ask  Mme.  Dalignac 
to  be  so  kind  as  to  pay  for  the  meal  which  we  took  to- 
gether at  the  restaurant,  when  she  said  to  me,  "  You 
pay  for  me  to-day,  for  I'm  penniless." 

The  anxious  gesture  which  I  made  caused  her  to 
look  at  me  more  attentively.  I  blushed  then  and  she 
also.  Our  eyes  remained  in  contact,  then,  as  though  a 
sudden  light  had  illuminated  the  road  which  our  two 
purses  had  just  taken,  we  were  seized  by  violent  laugh- 
ter. It  was  like  a  wave  of  gayety  that  threw  us  right 
and  left.  The  clear,  light  laughter  of  Mme.  Dalignac 


228         MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

burst  forth  and  scattered,  while  mine,  hearty  and  son- 
orous, followed  it  and  accompanied  it  everywhere. 
Our  lunch  was  composed  of  laughter  and  dry  bread 
on  that  day.  And  the  beggar,  who  still  had  on  her 
return  the  sad  look  of  people  who  are  hungry,  could 
have  believed,  seeing  us  so  gay,  that  our  repast  had 
been  copious  and  choice. 

On  Sunday  afternoons,  when  Mme.  Dalignac  was 
free,  I  dragged  her  away  to  the  Luxembourg  Gardens. 
She  sat  down  for  preference  in  the  places  where  her 
husband  had  sat,  and  like  him  she  watched  the  crowd 
pass. 

We  met  there  Gabielle  and  Jacques,  with  their  chil- 
dren. Jacques  did  not  stand  up  much  straighter  than 
he  did  before,  but  Gabielle  carried  her  new  pregnancy 
in  such  a  way  that  it  was  difficult  for  passers  to  be  un- 
aware of  it.  She  was  no  less  proud  to  walk  between 
Sandrine's  little  boy  and  little  girl,  whom  she  had  been 
able  to  restore  to  their  father.  Little  Jacques  called 
her  mother,  and  scarcely  left  her.  He  was  a  pretty 
child,  who  was  scared  by  the  slightest  jostling,  and  he 
refused  to  go  far  away,  while  little  Sandrine  mingled 
with  every  group,  and  could  always  find  her  parents 
again. 

Oh!  how  she  resembled  her  mother,  did  little  San- 
drine. The  same  silken,  curly  hair,  the  same  eyes  that 
seemed  to  inform  you  that  you  could  count  on  her.  She 
was  only  eight  years  of  age,  and  already  her  little  face 
had  a  serious  expression  on  it. 


MAEIE  CLAIKE'S  WOEKSHOP         229 

Jacques  was  all  admiration  for  his  daughter.  He 
took  her  hands,  as  he  had  formerly  taken  Sandrine's, 
and  he  said  to  her  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion,  "  Dear 
little  one." 

Watching  them,  Mme.  Dalignac  forgot  her  troubles. 
She  thought  of  them  still  when  the  little  family  had 
gone,  and  she  said,  as  if  to  herself,  "  That  Jacques  — " 

As  for  me,  it  was  the  change  in  Gabielle  that  sur- 
prised me  most.  She  seemed  so  happy  with  her  hus- 
band, that  I  ventured  to  ask  her  in  confidence,  "  Do  you 
love  Jacques  now  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  love  him,"  she  replied  quickly.  And  im- 
mediately she  added  proudly :  "  He,  too,  loves  me." 

Bouledogue  made  a  passing  appearance  in  the  gar- 
den. She  confided  her  grandmother  to  us  with  a  glance, 
and  was  off  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  Avenue  de 
1'Observatoire. 

Then  Clement  joined  us.  I  saw  him  coming  from 
afar.  The  upper  part  of  his  body  retained  much  of 
its  freedom,  but  there  was  something,  I  could  not  tell 
what,  that  made  him  heavy  below.  And  he  always 
made  me  think  of  a  tree  that  had  moved  without  tak- 
ing from  the  earth  any  one  of  its  roots. 

He  sat  by  us,  but  although  he  took  up  a  lot  of  room 
on  the  bench,  his  remarks  on  the  passersby  were  never 
ill-natured  or  boring. 

The  autumn  was  mild.  The  sparrows,  stuffed  with 
seeds,  left  the  bread  that  was  offered  to  them,  and  the 
pigeons,  perched  alone  or  in  groups  in  the  trees,  seemed 
like  big,  ripe  fruits  ready  to  fall  from  the  branches. 


230        MAEIE  CLAIEE'S  WORKSHOP 

Around  us  the  leaves  fell  one  by  one,  without  haste 
or  noise. 

At  dinner-time  I  accompanied  Mme.  Dalignac  and 
Clement  to  Rose's.  These  Sunday  evenings  spent  in 
the  family  circle  never  left  me  a  regret.  Eglantine 
embraced  me  like  a  very  affectionate  sister.  The  chil- 
dren received  me  with  glad  cries,  and  Rose,  fresh  and 
bedecked,  seemed  to  me  more  beautiful  than  the  most 
beautiful  flowers  of  the  Luxembourg.  She  too  received 
me  affectionately.  She  was  not  very  flattered  to  have 
me  for  a  sister-in-law,  but  she  liked  me  because  of  my 
resemblance  to  Eglantine. 

I  had  always  heard  the  talk  of  this  resemblance  with- 
out paying  the  least  attention  to  it.  But  this  evening, 
because  Rose  insisted  on  making  comparisons,  a  curi- 
osity came  to  me,  and  I  looked  into  the  mirror  that 
reflected  the  whole  family  around  the  table  and  showed 
me  my  face. 

I  was  first  of  all  stupefied  at  my  paleness,  and  I  had 
the  impression  of  having  seen  myself  for  the  first  time. 
Was  that  mine,  that  face  with  the  features  so  regular 
that  they  reminded  me  of  lines  drawn  on  white  paper  ? 

~No,  I  did  not  resemble  Eglantine,  whose  complexion 
was  pinky,  like  her  sister's,  and  whose  forehead  was 
very  high.  Her  thin  cheeks  had,  indeed,  the  shape  of 
mine,  and  her  chin  a  similar  dimple,  but  her  eyes,  blue 
like  mine,  reminded  me  of  Mme.  Dalignac's.  And  if 
her  too  heavy  hair  also  fell  about  her  on  all  sides,  its 
shade  was  more  uniform  and  much  lighter. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         231 

It  was  to  her  eyes  that  I  returned  especially.  They 
were  so  calm  and  gentle  that  you  turned  your  own  away 
from  them  with  some  reluctance.  The  light  entered 
deeply  into  them,  and  you  might  almost  have  said  there 
was  daylight  behind  them. 

In  the  hope  of  finding  that  mine  were  like  them,  I 
tried  to  see  them  in  the  glass,  but  I  could  not  find  them. 
I  seemed  to  see  in  their  place  two  wide-open  windows 
at  which  some  one  was  leaning. 

Mme.  Double  did  not  wait  for  the  shutting  down  of 
the  workshop  before  compelling  her  sister-in-law  to 
create  some  models  and  to  fit  her  customers.  It  was  so 
much  extra  toil  for  Mme.  Dalignac,  and  it  left  her  ex- 
cessively depressed  and  overwrought.  The  day's  work 
finished,  she  refused  to  eat,  and  remained  huddled  up 
on  a  stool,  instead  of  lying  down  in  the  patron's  easy 
chair. 

At  bedtime,  she  said,  "  I'm  so  tired  that  I'm  too  lazy 
to  go  to  bed,  and  I  want  to  lie  beneath  it  like  a 
dog." 

She,  who  had  never  been  ill,  was  now  suffering  with 
pains  in  her  back.  Her  fine  body,  which  had  been  so 
straight,  bent  as  she  worked.  Then,  with  her  elbows 
on  the  table,  she  said  to  me  as  an  excuse  for  this  rest, 
"  There  are  moments  when  I  feel  tired  to  death." 

Mme.  Double  was  not  tired;  she  had  never  seemed 
so  active.  Her  deed  of  partnership  in  hand,  she  com- 
pelled Mme.  de  Thingumbob  and  the  others  to  pay  their 
back  debts.  She  knew  what  was  necessary  to  say  for 


232        MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

that,  and  the  amount  thus  obtained  grew  from  day  to 
day. 

Mme.  Double  recognized  that  this  money  did  not  be- 
long to  her,  but  she  put  off  a  settlement  until  later.  For 
the  moment  it  served  to  pay  the  landlord  and  to  make 
the  necessary  advances  to  Clement  for  his  upholsterer's 
shop. 

Clement  was  not  at  all  grateful  to  her  for  these  ad- 
vances. He  received  them  as  his  due,  and  refused  to 
give  a  receipt  for  them,  on  the  pretext  that  she  had  not 
yet  taken  a  penny  out  of  her  pocket,  and  that  he  was 
quite  as  able  as  she  to  make  his  aunt's  old  customers 
pay  up. 

Mme.  Double  agreed  with  him,  but  she  was  hurt  by 
his  insolence,  and  she  revenged  herself  on  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac  by  reproaching  her  with  her  past  negligence.  She 
even  went  so  far  as  to  assert  that  the  patron  had  lacked 
care  and  attention  for  want  of  this  money.  And  for 
the  tenth  time  perhaps,  she  repeated  in  the  loud  voice 
that  was  habitual  to  her:  "  Oh !  Poor  brother,  it  was 
a  woman  like  me  he  needed !  " 

I  thought  she  was  going  to  break  out  violently  as  on 
the  other  occasions,  but  it  was  in  my  direction  that  she 
turned  suddenly,  and  said,  "  I  don't  like  being  looked 
at  in  that  way." 

I  lowered  my  eyes,  for  I  was  convinced  that  I  should 
never  be  able  to  look  at  her  in  any  other  way. 

To  furnish  his  shop,  Clement  took  from  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac  everything  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  carry 
away. 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         233 

"  I'll  take  that,"  was  all  he  said  to  his  aunt. 

She  laughed  to  see  him  so  loaded,  and,  noticing  my 
confusion,  she  said  quite  happily,  "  Let  him  alone ! 
Let  him  alone !  What's  mine  is  his." 

Clement  replied  to  my  reproaches  by  saying,  "  She'll 
let  others  take  them;  it's  just  as  well  if  I  have  them." 

There  was  no  question  of  our  future  lodgings.  "  The 
shop-parlor,  will  suffice,"  Clement  had  said.  And  in 
two  other  sentences  he  had  indicated  the  position  of 
our  furniture.  "  Here  a  bed  to  sleep  in,  and  there  a 
table  to  eat  from." 

This  shop-parlor  was  damp  and  dark.  The  sun  had 
never  entered  it,  and  it  had  an  odor  that  compelled  me 
to  leave  it  immediately.  Clement  laughed  so  loudly 
at  my  repugnance  that  in  the  end  I  did  as  he  did. 

Nothing  put  him  off.  He  washed  the  wall,  scraped 
the  floor  and  decorated  his  shop  without  accepting  any 
advice. 

In  the  evening,  seated  comfortably  between  his  aunt 
and  he,  he  spoke  of  his  hopes  of  wealth,  and  made  plans 
for  the  future.  Now  that  he  had  a  shop  he  wanted  a 
country  house.  And  frequently,  with  a  map  of  the 
neighborhood  of  Paris  spread  out  in  the  lamplight,  he 
followed  with  his  pencil  the  course  of  the  Seine  or  the 
Maine,  seeking  for  a  pretty  spot  that  was  easy  of  access. 
He  forced  me  to  follow  with  him,  and  said,  "  Choose  for 
us  a  lovely  spot." 

I  soon  tired  of  seeking.  My  thoughts  flew  away  far 
from  the  Seine  or  the  Marne,  towards  a  countryside 
that  I  had  long  chosen,  and  where  I  should  have  wished 


234        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

to  live  always.  It  was  a  hill  all  covered  with  pink 
heather  and  called  La  Rozelle.  It  was  also  a  narrow 
river  full  of  white  pebbles  called  La  Vive.  It  was 
again  a  great  wood  of  pines  that  held  their  own  against 
the  wind,  and  of  which  the  larger  trees  had  at  their  foot 
a  round  of  dry  sand,  where  you  could  sit  down  and 
await  the  end  of  the  rain.  In  this  country,  there  was 
a  dog  who  came  and  slipped  his  cool  muzzle  into  the 
palm  of  my  hand;  and  just  by  the  side  of  the  river,  in 
a  house  wide  open  to  the  sun,  there  was  a  man  of 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  with  attentive  eyes,  and  a 
face  that  seemed  made  of  gentleness  and  goodness. 

The  fifteenth  of  December  was  drawing  near.  It 
was  the  date  fixed  for  our  marriage,  and  Mme.  Dalignac 
was  already  busy  with  the  last  preparations.  However, 
before  solemnizing  this  great  day,  she  was  absolutely 
bent  on  repairing  to  her  husband's  grave.  She  had  been 
obsessed  by  this  idea  for  more  than  a  week;  but  as  she 
felt  really  ill  and  the  Bagneux  cemetery  was  a  long  way 
off,  she  had  a  sort  of  fear  of  going  there  alone. 

I  asked  nothing  better  than  to  accompany  her,  but 
it  would  be  necessary  to  arrange  for  the  girls'  work  dur- 
ing our  absence,  and  we  had  already  so  much  to  do 
in  the  course  of  the  day  that  it  was  impossible  for  us 
to  do  more. 

Clement,  whom  no  difficulty  embarrassed,  advised  us 
to  work  late  and  to  set  out  on  the  following  morning 
before  the  arrival  of  the  girls.  This  was,  in  fact,  the 
only  means  that  would  permit  us  to  be  away  together, 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         235 

and  Mme.  Dalignac  decided  to  use  it  that  very  evening. 
Once  again  she  had  counted  only  on  her  courage,  but, 
as  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  strength,  she  had  to 
give  up  at  the  beginning. 

It  was  not  the  same  with  me.  Three  days  only  sepa- 
rated me  from  my  marriage.  I  was  in  a  feverish  state, 
which  prevented  me  from  feeling  fatigue,  and  the  night 
passed  without  my  perceiving  the  length  of  time. 

Towards  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  I  was  finish- 
ing the  preparation  of  the  work,  a  noise  of  trailing  clogs 
came  up  the  avenue.  A  second  followed,  then  others, 
and  soon  the  sound  of  wheels  thumping  against  the 
setts  mingled  with  the  noises  of  the  clogs. 

I  did  not  remember  having  heard  this  noise  before, 
and  I  opened  the  window,  and  looked  out.  It  was  the 
road-sweepers  who  were  coming  out  of  a  hut  near  at 
hand,  where  they  had  been  to  fetch  their  cleaning  tools. 
The  men  were  pushing  barrows  loaded  with  shovels  and 
pipes,  and  the  women  carried  several  brooms  on  their 
shoulders.  They  all  walked  slowly  with  a  heavy  gait, 
as  if  they  were  already  tired  by  the  day's  work  to  come. 

Horses  yoked  to  tumbrils  next  debouched  from  the 
neighboring  street.  They,  too,  advanced  slowly.  Their 
iron  shoes  rang  hollow  on  the  roadway,  and  beneath  the 
enormous  lassitude  that  seemed  to  weigh  them  down 
their  backbones  caved  in,  and  their  bellies  approached 
the  earth. 

I  shut  the  window  when  they  had  disappeared  be- 
neath the  distant  lamplight,  but  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  keep  quiet. 


236        MAEIE  CLAIKE'S  WOEKSHOP 

In  order  not  to  awaken  Mme.  Dalignac,  whom  I 
heard  moving  and  complaining  in  her  sleep,  I  went  into 
the  workshop,  where  it  soon  seemed  to  me  that  I  was 
disturbing  the  rest  of  the  machines.  As  I  passed,  one 
of  them  let  fall  a  drop  of  oil.  The  wheel  of  another 
turned  twice  as  I  brushed  against  its  belt,  and  two  or 
three  gave  out  loud  cracks  although  I  was  some  distance 
from  them. 

I  returned  to  the  cutting-room,  and  I  tried  to  sleep 
for  a  few  minutes  on  the  table,  as  at  the  time  of  the 
heavy  nights  of  work,  but  it  was  not  sleep  that  came 
to  me;  it  was  the  memory  of  a  scene  that  made  me 
detest  Clement,  and  that  the  sweepers  had  made  me 
forget  an  instant. 

The  evening  before,  while  he  was  preparing  to  carry 
off  the  patron's  easy  chair,  as  well  as  three  of  the  best 
stools,  Mme.  Dalignac  had  detained  him  to  borrow  a 
small  sum  of  which  she  had  immediate  need.  Instantly 
I  had  seen  Clement's  features  harden  and  his  pupils 
become  fixed.  He  had  put  down  his  burden  ungra- 
ciously and  counted  one  by  one  the  silver  pieces, 
ringing  them  on  the  table,  then,  taking  up  the 
chair  and  the  stools,  he  had  said  shortly  to  his  aunt: 
"  You  won't  forget  to  return  that  money  to  me ;  it's 
mine." 

Mme.  Dalignac's  fine  eyes  seemed  to  melt  away  to 
nothing.  She  nodded  an  affirmative,  trying  to  smile; 
then  she  rose  to  help  her  nephew,  who  had  some  difficulty 
in  passing  through  the  door  with  his  load,  and  when 
at  last  she  had  been  able  to  smile,  she  turned  to  me  to 


MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         237 

say,  "  He's  not  in  the  best  of  moods  is  our  Clement 
to-day." 

My  ill-will  would  not  be  appeased.  I  could  not  ban- 
ish from  my  thoughts  the  fixed  eyes  of  Clement,  and  it 
was  with  no  joy  that  I  gazed  at  my  white  dress  on  the 
dummy. 

The  rolling  of  a  tram  reminded  me  that  we  were 
to  start  early  for  Bagneux,  and  immediately  I  awak- 
ened Mme.  Dalignac. 

In  the  main  path  of  the  cemetery  there  was  nobody 
but  us,  and  I  was  frightened  by  the  noise  of  our  feet 
on  the  gravel.  Mme.  Dalignac  walked  quickly  and 
passed  me  by.  She  advanced  with  a  movement  that 
lifted  her  up  so  high  that  I  saw  all  the  sole  of  her  boots. 

My  fright  increased  when  we  had  to  take  one  of  the 
cross  paths.  They  were  muddy  and  black,  and  flowers 
were  rotting  on  all  the  graves.  Each  moment  black- 
birds rose  before  us^  There  were  some  that  were  very 
black,  with  a  quick  flight  and  wings  outspread,  but 
others  were  gray  and  short,  and  seemed  like  winged 
stones.  They  disappeared  as  they  had  appeared,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  indicate  where  they  had  gone. 

I  sat  down  on  a  slab  of  granite,  while  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac half  lay  on  the  convex  stone  that  covered  her  hus- 
band. She  remained  motionless,  her  cheek  resting  on 
her  arm  as  on  a  pillow,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
expression  of  intolerable  suffering  that  disfigured  her 
face,  I  might  have  thought  that  she  had  gone  to  sleep. 

In  this  corner  of  the  cemetery,  where  a  great  square 
of  ground  remained  waste,  the  slightest  noises  sent  long 


238        MARIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP 

tremors  all  over  me.  The  thickets  were  in  motion,  and 
furrows  were  being  traced  in  the  flat  grass  by  creeping 
things. 

All  about  the  graves,  too,  everything  seemed  to  be 
alive.  A  broken  stone  set  on  end  was  like  a  fleshless 
head  imploring  for  some  sort  of  succor  from  above.  A 
tree  completely  stripped  of  its  leaves  stretched  towards 
us  its  stiff  black  branches,  and  in  the  next  pathway 
a  cypress  groaned  as  if  it  alone  had  to  bear  the  whole 
of  the  damp  wind. 

Two  crows  alighted  on  a  white  cross.  They  appeared 
exhausted,  and  it  was  some  long  time  before  they  could 
stand  upright;  but  scarcely  had  they  attained  the  im- 
mobility necessary  to  their  repose,  when  the  harsh  voice 
of  another  crow  passing  in  the  distance  made  them 
start  off  again  as  if  in  distress. 

Mme.  Dalignac  had  also  heard  the  sharp  call,  and  as 
if  she  were  replying  to  it,  she  asked,  "  What  is  the 
time?" 

I  drew  from  my  blouse  the  little  gold  watch  she  had 
given  to  me,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  nine  o'clock.  She 
started. 

"  And  the  workshop !  "  she  said. 

I  had  to  help  her  to  her  feet.  She  complained  of  a 
great  weakness  in  the  legs,  and  to  walk  she  was  obliged 
to  lean  on  my  shoulder.  She  became  anxious  at  the 
idea  that  the  girls  needed  her,  but,  every  time  she  tried 
to  hasten,  her  head  fell  suddenly  forward.  As  we 
were  leaving  the  cemetery,  she  stopped  me. 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  see  clearly." 


MAEIE  CLAIRE'S  WORKSHOP         239 

I  looked  at  her.  She  was  no  paler  than  the  moment 
before,  and  there  was  no  change  in  her  gentle  eyes.  She 
made  one  more  step,  touched  the  great  gate  as  though 
seeking  in  it  a  new  support,  and  without  a  word  she 
sank  down,  in  spite  of  my  efforts  to  hold  her  up. 

Two  men  carried  her  into  a  neighboring  hotel.  The 
doctor  who  came  drew  me  on  one  side  to  ask  me  a  few 
questions.  And  on  my  inquiring  whether  Mme.  Dalig- 
nac's  illness  was  serious,  he  said  simply,  "  She  is  dy- 
ing." 

I  had  for  a  moment  the  hope  that  he  was  mistaken. 

After  a  little  attention,  Mme.  Dalignac  squeezed  my 
hand  that  held  hers,  and  I  saw  that  she  wanted  to  speak. 
But  her  lips  did  not  move ;  her  throat  made  a  tremen- 
dous effort,  and  I  understood  that  she  was  saying,  "  The 
workshop,  the  workshop."  Then  her  eyes  closed.  All 
suffering  disappeared  from  her  face,  and  she  stopped 
breathing. 

Noon  was  being  struck  by  the  churches  and  hooted 
by  the  factories  when  I  entered  the  workshop  again. 
All  the  girls  were  standing,  ready  to  go  out.  Ber- 
geounette,  leaning  out  of  the  window,  was  making  cer- 
tain that  the  road  was  free,  and  Duretour  was  singing 
in  her  merry,  falsetto  voice: 

"  Paris,  Paris, 
Paradis  de  la  femme." 


THE  END 


000110704    4 


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